Pale Angel, Go Away
by Solain Rhyo
Summary: AeriSeph. Sephiroth must seek out and capture Aerith for Jenova, but finds himself reluctant to deliver her to her doom. In the process of being rewritten.
1. One

**.1.**

**.x.**

_Little angel, go away_

_Come again some other day_

_The devil has my ear today,_

_I'll never hear of what you say._

_[Weak & Powerless – A Perfect Circle]_

**.x.**

He stood before a church.

Smiling a little at the irony of a church holding something he needed, he checked the wrinkled piece of paper he held in his hand—an almost indecipherable map drawn in haste by a very harried citizen of the slums—to make sure he had the right place. Poor artwork aside, there was no mistaking that this was his intended location. Tucking the paper back into one of the interior pockets of his long black duster, he stepped forward and pushed open the large wooden door. It opened with a screech that spoke of age and dilapidation, and the sound echoed eerily throughout the interior of the building.

So much, he mused, for his silent entrance.

He closed the door behind him—with another shriek to rival the first—and surveyed the interior. It was, as he'd guessed from the exterior, in a state of utter disrepair. The pews were scattered in great disarray, most of them broken. Sunlight, tinted from the few remaining intact stained glass windows, filtered through to illuminate what appeared to be a patch of flowers growing up through the broken wood planks of the floor. Standing in the midst of the flowers were two people, and he saw instantly that they were both alert to his presence.

She was one of them, he realized a heartbeat later—the girl Mother had insisted he find. Clad in a worn and faded pink dress, with overlarge sturdy boots and a wooden staff, she regarded him with open curiosity. The other, a lean blonde man with an enormous blade strapped across his back, he instantly recognized. He smiled then, an expression that was anything but friendly.

"Strife." He said flatly.

The man's expression was both horrified and astonished. "Sephiroth?"

He nodded, his unpleasant smile growing wider. "None other. Surprised to see me?"

The blonde man didn't answer, but Sephiroth already knew the answer. He continued in a conversational tone, but there was no mistaking the underlying malice. "As you can tell, I survived my little fall. However, it seems everyone believed me to be dead. I came back," he paused, and there was a cold glint in his remarkably green eyes, "to prove them wrong."

The girl, sensing the almost tangible tension between the two men, shifted hesitantly, taking one small step backwards. The blonde man unconsciously moved so that he stood in front of her, shielding her from the threat he was just beginning to fathom. "Why are you here?" He demanded.

"I've come," Sephiroth gestured, "for the girl."

She made a frightened sound, a sudden, sharp intake of breath. "Cloud," she said, making that one word a blatant plea.

He turned and nodded to her, an agreement to something she had asked him previously. He slid the blade from its sheath and held it out before him. Sunlight glinted off several colorful pieces of materia attached to the pommel. "What do you want with her?"

Sephiroth began to tense slowly, his hand inching upwards in preparation to draw his own weapon, the wickedly long Masamune.

"That," he replied calmly, "is none of your business."

Cloud scowled at the answer before turning his head a fraction and whispering something to the girl. She nodded and began backing away. Sephiroth made his move; his blade slid smoothly from its sheath and he cut the air before him with deadly, practiced strokes. His own materia, few yet potent, were set in grooves along the engraved hilt. Cloud widened his stance in preparation, and Sephiroth did the same with a sigh of irritation. This was a nuisance, a minor deterrent, and he intended to deal with Cloud Strife in a manner appropriate for people as insignificant as he—payback, such as it was, for the long fall he had taken off of a catwalk in a reactor one night not so long ago …

Behind him, the door again emitted its screech, announcing a new arrival. Turning so that that he could keep Cloud in sight, Sephiroth watched as two Shinra soldiers followed by a man in a dark suit entered the church. Sephiroth, upon recognition of the latter, felt his lip curl in disdain.

"Reno of the Turks." He said slowly. Reno, seeing the legendary warrior standing before him, made a noise of surprise. The sound was echoed by that of his retinue.

"Turks," Cloud said, and the expression on his face was almost a mirror of Sephiroth's. "What do you want?"

Reno, still staring at Sephiroth, said only, "But ... you're dead ..."

"Obviously a rumor," replied the other, "Or I wouldn't be standing here, would I?"

The sound of footsteps caught everyone's attention; the girl had turned heel and fled back into the depths of the darkened church. Reno issued a command to the soldiers; shaking off their amazement at seeing the great Sephiroth alive, they went to give chase after her. Cloud, however, moved to intercept them; they hesitated, having not expected this simple abduction plan to include violence.

What do you want with Aerith?" Cloud asked Reno.

"Nothing, personally." Reno said, having regained his composure. He pulled a cigarette from where it had been secured behind his ear. A lighter appeared in his hand, and as he lit the cigarette he moved his eyes slowly from Cloud to Sephiroth. He continued after inhaling deeply, "Hojo needs her and sent me to fetch her."

"Hojo!" Said both Sephiroth and Cloud simultaneously. Sephiroth pondered this for a moment—fascinating indeed that Hojo should want what Mother had sent him for …

Cloud was shaking his head, "Leave her alone."

Reno sighed before taking another long drag from his cigarette; letting it fall to the ground he shook his head as though disappointed by Cloud's answered, but Sephiroth didn't miss the sudden, eager gleam in his eyes—the Turks were always spoiling for a fight. Reno glanced at Sephiroth, who stood with his blade lowered and brows drawn together in a pensive frown; having ascertained that he'd receive no interference from that quarter, the Turk turned to Cloud with a wide and anticipatory smile, "Fine. We'll do this hard way."

He pulled a short, compact metal rod from across his back, and as he gave it a sharp flick it elongated into an tactical baton. Cloud was already moving, lunging at the Shinra soldiers with his blade so that they scattered before he whirled about and ran further into the church after the girl. Reno and his men watched Sephiroth for a moment to see what he would do, but when the former general merely smiled mockingly at them and gestured for them to pass, they did. He watched thoughtfully as they raced after the girl and Cloud. Mother had not mentioned anything about Hojo having an interest in the girl as well, and that bothered him. He would discern the reasons for this new development on his own and return for the girl later. Cloud or no Cloud, he would capture her and bring her to Mother as directed. She was, he had been told, a hindrance to their progress, but having seen her now he sincerely doubted that she could be anything of a threat.

But Mother was not to be disobeyed ...

He sheathed the Masamune in one effortless movement before turning to leave the church.

**.x.**


	2. Two

**.2.**

She was alone again.

She pulled her knees up tight against her chest, pulling her body in closer to the solid wall of thick glass at her back. Her eyes surveyed the area outside of her circular prison; she was surrounded on all sides by an enormous scientific laboratory. She could see them all, working at various things in their long white coats. The one she hated the most—the one she feared—was nowhere around, and she released a sigh of relief. She hated this place, hated these people, and closing her eyes she wished fervently she was somewhere else, anywhere else. Her eyes opened again and she resigned herself to her fate. So many times had she been here, in this exact spot, and so many times had she managed to escape. This time, she noticed bitterly, they were taking no chances. The security around her cell had doubled, and there would be no respite from their experiments. She attempted to stifle the cold fear growing within her; Hojo was different this time, and his attitude towards her was alarming. She felt small, and insignificant, and wished she wasn't alone. She wanted to be with her new friends, with Cloud—

_Cloud._ She needed him now, needed his stubborn strength, needed his confidence. She had only known him for a few days, and already, surprisingly, he had become a pinnacle of support. He filled her with something akin to happiness, and she could not deny she was attracted to him. And, she mused with a swift, secret smile, she was quite certain he felt something for her. It was nothing obvious, only a light that would enter his eyes when he watched her and the way he laughed more often when she was near. Her smile faded; he was gone in an attempt to stop the pillar from falling, and Tseng had caught her after she had taken the sweet little girl, Marlene, to her stepmother. The only consolation she had at this point was that the little girl and Elmyra were both safe.

She hunched in upon herself as a scientist walked past her cell, regarding her with undisguised fascination. She swallowed her disgust and her rage at being treated as nothing more than a lab rat; those emotions were at the moment nothing but futile. Her differences had always set her apart, but now, like this, she felt nothing more that a freakish outcast, a deviation from the norm that was destined for nothing but this treatment, this study. She noticed then main doors to the lab sliding open, and she watched uneasily as Hojo himself entered. Her lip curled in loathing; she despised him more than anyone or anything. He noticed her expression upon nearing her cell, and his thin pale lips moved into a cold and mirthless smirk. Wishing she could throw herself at him and claw his foul eyes from his face, she settled for pouring all her hatred into her glare. He chuckled at this and turned to his lab workers.

"The President wants a progress report," he told the others in his reedy, nasal voice. "So we're done here for the day. I'll see you all tomorrow."

The scientists began to disperse. Hojo moved to stand directly before her cell and leaned down to peer at her where she was curled at the far side.

"Well, my dear, how are you feeling?"

Several responses, none of them polite, rose to her mind. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rage, she stubbornly pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Hojo smiled again. "You might as well lose that attitude of yours. You're going to be here for a very, very long time."

Still she said nothing. He reached out and rapped sharply on the glass; the resounding echo from within caused her to wince.

"There, you see?" He asked her, still smiling. "You're an experiment, my dear, and you should expect to be treated as such."

Furious, helpless tears rose in her eyes, and she fought to contain them; he enjoyed watching her break down, watching her give into the turmoil. He observed her silent struggle with emotion for several seconds longer before turning and leaving the lab. On his way out, he shut off the lights and left her sitting in semi-darkness. She tried to ignore the shadows that lined the walls, which wavered and elongated as her imagination fueled them, tried not to be disturbed by the eerie silence that filled the empty, cavernous room. Exhaustion won over her unease eventually; she pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and let sleep carry her far, far away.

**.x.**

She awoke to the sound of footsteps steadily approaching. As her eyes opened slowly she found herself curled protectively on her side. The lab was still dark and the only sound to be heard was that of the footfalls that seemed to be drawing even closer. She pulled herself upright cautiously, trying to peer through the shadows to see who approached. Surely it was Hojo, back to check in on her as he so often did during her time spent here. A scathing greeting rose to her lips as a shape formed itself out of the darkness—

No words fell from her lips, and instead she sucked in a startled breath. Looming above her, bloodied sword in hand, was the man who she and Cloud had encountered at the church.

_Sephiroth._

His gaze—luminously green even in the lack of light—was unreadable as he slowed to a stop before her cell. He said nothing, but raised the sword after a moment and brought it down in one swift movement. She cried out as her prison shattered around her; pieces of glass fell against her skin, landed in her hair. After a moment, she uncurled herself hesitantly, expecting the blade to fall again and take her head with it. When nothing happened, she raised her eyes. He was still watching her but made no movement, and so she slowly came to her feet. This close to him she could see the streaks of blood that glistened on his coat and armor, and the tinge of red that tainted his remarkable snowy hair. He endured her scrutiny with an intimidating silence; it was another moment before he spoke. "You are coming with me."

"Where?" She asked quietly, trying and failing to keep her apprehension out of her voice. She remembered what he had said at the church, that he had come for her, and her fear mounted. She knew nothing of this man save for the fact that he fairly exuded danger; she was certain her fate with him would be no better than it would if she remained here at Hojo's whim.

_Out of the frying pan …_

"That is none of your concern." He replied. His voice was implacable, cold, but held within it a distinct threat that made her heart sink even further.

"Where are we going?" She asked again, voice rising with her anxiety.

His head tilted slightly to the side as he regarded her, as though attempting to ascertain how much he should reveal. "To Mother," he said finally, which told her absolutely nothing at all.

Aerith was shaking her head; going with this man, she was certain, would lead to her demise. She knew it with such certainty that she had begun to tremble. She began unconsciously backing away from him, the tiny shards of glass from her broken prison being crushed beneath her feet.

"No," she said, dredging up a wild courage, "I won't go with you."

His face altered slightly so that he seemed mildly amused. "I beg to differ," he said, and reaching out he caught her by the forearm. Startled at the suddenness of the movement, she wrenched back in an attempt to break free. His grip was like a vise, and his hold tightened until it was painful as she continued to struggle.

She saw then the small smile that flickered across his mouth, and suddenly she was furious—how like everyone else he was, to sit there and mock her lack of strength, her helplessness. His smile abruptly faded as her free hand connected solidly with his face, leaving behind a red imprint. He stared at her coldly for a moment before bringing the edge of his bloody blade to rest across the hollow of her throat, against the mad beating of her pulse. She went completely still at the feel of the cool metal against her skin.

"You will come with me," he said in a voice that fairly resonated with the promise of pain, "And if you do that again, I will kill you."

She didn't doubt him. She lowered her eyes in resigned submission and he withdrew the sword from her neck. With a sharp tug, he pulled her after him as he strode across the lab towards the elevator in the back. She had to run to keep up with his long strides, and his iron hold on her arm was beginning to hurt. She didn't dare say anything to further provoke him and as they stepped onto the lift she remained silent. Sephiroth punched in the floor number on the keypad, and they began to rise. He released her then, as she had nowhere to flee. The elevator slowed and then beeped, and the doors slid open.

Gunfire erupted, as guards standing before the lift doors opened fire. Moving with inhuman speed, Sephiroth was a blur as he leapt forwards, his blade rising and falling too swiftly to be tracked. Aerith had thrown herself backwards into the lift to avoid the gunfire; something ripped through her shoulder and she let out a strangled cry. The gunshots ceased; a moment later she found herself staring up at Sephiroth. More blood spatter decorated the thick fall his hair, and the crimson stood out like a bloodstain on snow. He frowned down at her as she clutched her shoulder and dropped into a crouch.

"You were hit?" It was more a statement than a question. He pulled her hand, which was trembling violently, away from the wound. He felt it with fingers to estimate the extent of the injury; at his touch she couldn't muffle the whimper that escaped her lips. His hand came away wet with her blood, which he wiped on his coat before standing.

"Come," he said. "I'll bind your wound once we leave this place."

She got to her feet, aided by his firm grip on the elbow of her uninjured arm. As he led her out of the elevator, she stared horrified at the carnage around her. The guards with the guns were now nothing more than bleeding, severed bodies, and she hastily averted her gaze. Each step taken sent a wave of stabbing pain through her shoulder and down her arm, and soon she was walking in a haze of agony. Sephiroth led her to a set of stairs and resolutely began climbing them. She followed, more because he was dragging her then out of her own effort. As they reached the top he released her and she stumbled backwards to lean against a wall. She stared around her at the cavernous chamber they were in; massive windows lined every wall and the lights of Midgar were spread out before her like a glittering landscape of stars. In the center of this chamber was what seemed to be an enormous desk. And behind that desk—despite the relentless waves of pain that washed through her, she instantly recognized the man. It was none other than President Shinra himself.

He was shouting in alarm as Sephiroth approached him with all the grace of a stalking cat. Aerith couldn't look away as Sephiroth leapt lithely into the air, his sword held firmly before him ...

With a harsh scream, President Shinra was impaled on the blade.

Aerith sank then to her knees, trying desperately to deny what she had just seen. Her breathing was frantic, erratic, and her vision was growing clouded from the pain, from the horror. She watched, terrified, as Sephiroth removed his sword from the corpulent body with practiced ease and began walking back towards her. She couldn't go anywhere with this monster, she _couldn't_—

With a strength and speed borne of terror, she rose to her feet and bolted back down the stairs. She heard an explosive oath behind her, and doubled her efforts to flee. Suddenly she staggered, and was falling so very fast down, down, down ...

She curled for the impact, hitting the floor hard. She struggled to breathe through lungs that refused to work, fought against the encroaching darkness. Eyes that were so very green entered her vision, and from far away she heard a voice trying to coach her through this—

Her body gave one more desperate attempt for air before everything went black.


	3. Three

**.3.**

Sephiroth was surprised when the girl ran from him, back down the stairs they had just ascended. The wound she had received was more severe than he had initially thought; the bullet had missed the bone and was now embedded firmly in the muscle. If it wasn't removed quickly and with precision she could lose all mobility in that arm. Not that it really mattered; chances were that when Mother was through with her she would be in much worse shape. He had noticed the way her body trembled, both from shock and from fear, and therefore had assumed she would put up no further resistance. When he was proven wrong and the girl fled from him in an astonishing burst of speed, he swore vehemently and leapt in pursuit. He had almost reached her when she staggered on one step and tumbled forwards. He lunged for her too late and rushed forwards as she fell from the stairs to the floor. Blood was running down her face from a gash above one eye, and as he knelt at her side he could hear her harsh gasps as she struggled to bring air into her lungs.

"Relax," he told her, "Don't fight it."

But she was fighting it; it was instinctive when the wind was knocked out of one's body. She gave one last furious gasp before her eyes rolled back and she went limp. Sephiroth cursed softly. Alarms were sounding all over the building, and it was only a matter of time before the body of the President was discovered. He lifted the girl, who had resumed normal breathing upon falling unconscious, and held her close to his chest. Her slight weight would not be a hindrance. He headed back up the stairs. The President was slumped over his desk, blood pooling on the scattered papers and dripping in a steady stream onto the floor. Sephiroth allowed himself a savage smile of satisfaction at the scene before turning and running headlong at one of the many windows spanning this floor. He tightened his hold on the girl as they crashed through the glass, the force of his momentum causing it to shatter entirely. Then they were falling, the floors of the building they'd just left rushing by ...

A rooftop rose up to meet them and he landed with an easy, feline grace. He was by far more stronger, swifter, and agile than any other human and it was obvious in his movement. He took off running, a blur to anyone watching. Buildings rose and fell as he leapt from roof to roof with ease.

He allowed himself, for a brief moment, to feel exhilarated; He had found the girl and rid the world of the loathsome Shinra leader. The main reason he had been at the Shinra headquarters was to liberate a piece of Mother from Hojo's lab. Upon freedom said piece had fled, off to become a part of the whole. Soon, he knew with a certain grim satisfaction, Mother would be complete.

And then all the world would tremble before Mother and Son.

It took him short minutes to leave the wretched expanse that was Midgar behind, even with the burden of bearing the girl. Perhaps, he mused, this was a quicker method of escape than it would have been had she been conscious. His extreme speed carried them over the grasslands, and into the forests that from a distance bordered Midgar. He could run for hours at the same pace before any sign of weariness; upon glancing down at his burden he realized she needed immediate attention. Certain that they were deep enough within the woods to avoid any unwanted attention, he slowed to a halt in a small clearing. Setting down the girl as gently as he could, he set about creating some method of warmth. It was a small matter to gather fallen branches and twigs, and soon he had enough tinder to support a healthy blaze. He used one of his materia to ignite the wood, and soon a fire was burning, creating a comfortable, encompassing heat.

He turned his attention to his unwilling companion. She lay where he had placed her; on her back before the fire. She was pallid, and her brows were creased in pain even in her unconscious state. He frowned. Had she sustained more injuries form her fall? He ran his arms down her arms, feeling for any bones that felt out of place, or any swelling indicating internal injury. He lightly ran his hands down her side, paused, and ran them back up. There it was ... a rib out of place. It was either slightly broken or cracked, most likely the latter. He sighed; he had nothing to bind her side with, and leaving it as it was would only serve to slow their pace on the rest of their journey. He wore no clothing that would be suitable for a binding; it was all leather and metal. He eyed the hem of her pink skirt, and proceeded to rip a wide swath of it off. It fell now to her knees, baring her calves and her bulky, worn boots. They were, he decided with some amusement, the ugliest boots he had ever seen. He had to move her to bind the cloth around her, and as he supported her weight she made a soft sound of pain. He set her carefully down again and tied off the makeshift bandage.

His eyes moved then to her shoulder, noting how the arm of her dress was thoroughly soaked with blood. There was no other way to treat the wound than remove the bullet, and he knew from experience that it would be unpleasant. Without something to numb the pain and the proper instruments, extracting the bullet was going to be excruciating for her. He set his jaw and went about pulling the shoulder of her dress away from the wound. It stuck to the wound, the blood having long since dried, and as he ripped it free she made another small sound. He watched her for a moment to see if she would awaken, but her eyes remained closed and so he continued. Once the wound was bared, he leaned in for closer inspection.

It was, he thought grimly, a good thing she was out cold.

He rolled up the sleeves of his coat, baring thick, muscular arms. Removing from where it rode secured to his belt his small canteen, he twisted the cap off and dribbled some water onto the wound. Squinting in the firelight, he dabbed away the dried blood as best he could. And then, as gently as possible, he inserted a finger into the wound, fishing for the bullet.

Green eyes, much different that his own, flew open, and she screamed.

**.x.**

Rending, searing pain.

That was what ripped her from the depths of the void she had so thankfully been lost within. Her eyes flew open, and she could not help the agonized cry that passed her lips. Her vision was filled with green and white, and as she struggled away from the source of the pain she realized it was Sephiroth, crouched over her, his pale hair falling like a curtain around them. He withdrew his hand abruptly, and it came glistening in the firelight. It was covered in blood, she saw, and then realized it was her blood. She attempted to get up, get away, but a different pain pulsed through her side and she fell back with a gasp.

"I'm trying to help you," Sephiroth said in an irritated tone. "Be still."

"No!" She said, trying to sit up again, much slower. "You were hurting me."

"It will hurt much worse if you don't let me remove the bullet."

"What happened to me?" she murmurred, running her hands over her side, and finding it bound tightly with cloth ... cloth that upon closer inspection seemed to belong to her tattered dress. Indeed, it seemed the hem of her dress had been raised a few inches. She looked a question at the man kneeling before her.

"You fell," he told her with an unfriendly look, "when you ran from me. Down the stairs. You cracked some ribs."

The memories, so vivid and alarming, came rushing back. Her eyes rapidly widened as she stared at him with a mixture of intense loathing and fear. "You murdered them!"

"Indeed," he said, and the smile that crossed his face was chilling.

She began inching away from him, unable to do much more before collapsing in agony. He watched her impassively for a moment, before reaching out and catching her uninjured arm. "Where," he asked, sounding amused, "do you think you're going?"

"Away from you!" She snapped, her ire rising at his tone. He shook his head slightly, and using her arm as leverage pulled himself closer. She shrank away as he loomed before her, overwhelming, imperious. He gestured to her wound with his bloody hand.

"If you would like to retain the use of your arm, I need to remove the bullet."

She glared at him. He merely raised one eyebrow, awaiting her decision. She sighed, and it hurt; she winced.

"Do it," she said quietly, and averted her eyes as he focused his attention once more on her exposed shoulder.

"Prepare yourself," he said, and she tensed. The intensity of the agony that rolled through her was staggering; she bit down hard on her lip but couldn't contain her cry. She clutched at him with her free hand, fingers gripping his shoulder in an attempt to relieve her own pain. His fingers, probing the wound, caused patches of black to cross her vision. She closed her eyes against the sensation and concentrated on breathing, on anything but what he was doing. Just as she began to black out, he made a satisfied sound and pulled away. She looked up through watering eyes to see him holding a small, bloodied bullet between his fingers. She relaxed her body then, and released his shoulder. The pain was still acute, and pulsing, but she was relieved all the same. He tossed the bullet off to one side and gripped her skirt. Before she had time to protest he had ripped off another wide swath of cloth. Her hem was now above her knees. He used the cloth to deftly bind her shoulder, and then leaned back on his heels. His remarkable eyes moved to her face; she was unprepared as he reached out with one finger and gently brushed at her lip. Startled, she stared at him. He held up his finger, and it held traces of blood.

"Your lip is bleeding," he said by way of explanation. She raised her own hand and tenderly touched her mouth; when he had removed the bullet she had bit down with such force she had split open her own lip. He rose suddenly, turned to the fire.

"Get some sleep," he said, and his voice was once again imperious and unfeeling. "We travel at dawn."

She wanted to ask why, and where they were going, but as if anticipating her questions he looked at her, and the warning in that glance was enough to keep her silence. He walked to a tree not far from the fire and sank to the ground with the trunk at his back. She watched him warily for a moment, and his eyes flicked to her.

"Sleep," he said. "You need it. I do not."

And with those words, he returned his gaze to the flames. She swallowed, and eased her aching body to the hard ground. There was enough heat from the fire that she didn't feel the chill of the night, and slowly, too slowly, sleep claimed her.


	4. Four

**.4.**

Sephiroth awoke with a start.

He didn't recall falling asleep. In fact, he hardly ever slept; he hadn't for a very long time. Sleep was something his body, enhanced by so very many things, no longer needed. He shook the drowsiness from his mind and rose to his feet before glancing at the fire. It was now nothing more than ash, and it had long since died. A quick survey of the clearing told him that the girl was gone, and as realization of what happened hit him, he whirled and struck a tree with his clenched fist. The sun was directly overhead, filtering in broken patches through the leafy canopy, indicating it was midday. Seething, he kicked at the ashes of the fire, scattering them high into the air. There was only one possible explanation: that girl, that insignificant slip of a girl, had cast him into unnatural slumber. How she had managed he had no idea, for he had seen no trace of Materia on her person. The fact that her magic affected him at all was astonishing; he was resistant to most all forms. Somehow, it had worked, and she was gone, had been gone for quite some time now. Not that it mattered, for catching up to her would be no contest. And when he did, he thought darkly, it was going to be most unpleasant for her.

It was as he crouched down, examining the leaf-littered ground for her tracks, that he felt Mother. Her call came from afar, a rapid collection of images and sensations that he interpreted into curiosity. Where was the girl, she wanted to know, and when would he come back to her? _Soon, Mother,_ he sent back to her in much the same way she had communicated with him. Their bond was growing increasingly stronger day to day, much like his inhuman abilities. She accepted his answer with a hint of impatience, and he knew he must quickly return to her with the girl.

As Mother withdrew her voice, he returned his attention to the task at hand. As he'd suspected, the girl had left a trail a blind man could follow. She couldn't have gotten far; she was wounded, and, he suspected, not accustomed to strenuous travel. He could locate her much easier, however, through his heightened senses. He closed his eyes, and forced his awareness outward, away from the clearing, rushing through the trees. He could feel the life all around him; could distinguish between plant and animal. He extended his reach to the grasslands, but in all of what he encountered there was nothing human; no trace of the girl. He released a sigh and opened his eyes, coming back into his self. He had just covered an area larger than any regular, healthy person could traverse in one day. She could not be any more than a few hours ahead of him; he surmised then that for some unknown reason, she was in fact invisible to his senses. That fact, combined with the effectiveness of her magic on him, troubled him. It seemed Mother was correct. The girl was, indeed, a threat of some sort.

He took one more careful look at her tracks, memorizing the size and shape and taking their direction into account, before he began to run. He stopped frequently to ensure he was still on the trail. In a short time he was clear of the forest and back on the open grasslands. Her trail was easier to follow now, and he moved with swift assurance. For several minutes he continued this way, until something unusual brought him to a halt. Her trail entered an area where the grass was flattened in a bizarre pattern. Upon closer inspection he realized they were Chocobo tracks. There was no further sign of the girl's passing ...

Which meant that somehow she had managed to catch a Chocobo.

Sephiroth furiously recited every expletive in his extensive vocabulary. Riding a Chocobo, the girl could now travel at a speed that rivaled his own. He began swiftly surveying the ground all around him, and found what he was looking for. Chocobo tracks, headed to the north. He knew she wouldn't be returning to Midgar, and therefore her only other destination could be Kalm. He was certain she had never set foot outside of that accursed city until he had taken her from it; she would want to reach the closest source of civilization. His lips set in a grim line, he began once again to sprint across the ground, increasing his speed to an almost uncomfortable level. He may be able to intercept her; he was positive she had no real indication of the layout of the land. She would be riding over hills, and valleys, and those would slow her down, even with a Chocobo. He altered his direction; he would take the low route. It was filled with considerably more hostile creatures than the high road, but they would prove no threat to him.

When he caught up with her, she was going to regret her decision. Most assuredly.

**.x. **

The idea had come to Aerith in the middle of the night, when she had been awoken, shivering, by the damp chill of the night air. It was risky, but she really had no other choice. She knew he was more than human, supernatural in his powers, but her materia was special and unusual in itself. She kept it secured within a small braid at the base of her neck, often woven into a larger braid. Carefully, noiselessly, she moved her body as though shifting in sleep. She could see Sephiroth to her far right, head down, back against the trunk of a large poplar tree. She doubted very much he was sleeping; he didn't seem to need the things most people did to function properly. She kept her head pillowed on one hand while the other worked at freeing her small materia from its braid. It fell into her palm, marble-sized, warm and pulsing slightly, and she instantly felt comforted and almost secure. Cradling it in her palm, she eased it out before her. Sephiroth hadn't moved. Noiselessly she began to chant the words for a simple spell, directing the power towards him. It seemed almost ludicrous that this should work, but this was her last resort. She finished her incantation and held her breath for long moments. He still did not move, but his breathing, barely audible over the soft crackling of the dying flames, seemed to have deepened. Gathering all of her resolve she began to move, slowly, warily. Her body was stiff and aching, but she remained silent as she came first to a crouch, and then to her feet. Sephiroth did not stir as she took first one hesitant step away, and then another. A twig snapped loudly beneath her foot; with her heart in her throat she became absolutely still.

His head fell further onto his chest, hair sliding over his shoulders as he sighed. He was asleep, deeply so. For a moment she stared at him, at the way his face lost its harsh arrogance, at how he seemed almost a different person. She shook her head a moment later and turned on her heel before beginning to painfully make her escape. She couldn't manage much more than a brisk walk, for pain was lancing down her shoulder and throbbing violently in her side. She stopped and gripped the materia which she still held. She could ease the pain somewhat, enough that she could travel normally for a short while. The knowledge that Sephiroth could wake any second and that he could subdue her again without any effort made her both frightened and nervous. Murmuring a swift incantation, she numbed her body enough that all she felt was slight discomfort. Tucking the materia securely into the front pocket of her dress she began to run at an awkward pace as to not jar her injuries further. As she picked her path carefully through the trees twigs tangled in her hair and scratched her face, and twice she tripped and fell over fallen trees. By the time she reached the edge of the forest she was panting and exhausted, but the sight of the grasslands heartened her. Cloud and Tifa had spoken of going to Kalm after they left Midgar, and though she knew very little of the areas outside Midgar she did know Kalm was to the north. Doggedly she began to run, stopping often, in that direction. She had paused at the rise of a small hill to catch her breath when movement from the plains below caught her eye. A flock of wild Chocobos were grazing not far away, and suddenly an idea came to her. Elmyra always said she had a way with animals ...

Catching one was easier than she had thought it would be. They hadn't fled at the sight of her; rather, they had flocked to her side, making their distinctive sounds. She wondered if perhaps her mysterious materia had anything to do with their behaviour; they were affectionate and jostled each other for her attention. Choosing the one of the larger ones out of the group, she set about attempting to get herself astride its broad back. She hadn't enough strength to launch herself that high, and she was at a loss for something to stand on. The Chocobo stood still as she made attempts to leap onto its back, watching her with what she swore was amusement. Finally, as if sensing her exasperation, the large bird lowered itself to the ground. Elated, she climbed aboard and lodged herself between its wings, stroking the soft feathers on its neck. It warbled softly and she decided to let herself enjoy this moment, this experience. She had seen Chocobos before, but they were always tame and never wild. She had never in a million years dreamed that one day she would be riding a wild one across the grasslands ...

The memory of just why she was riding one across the grasslands flooded back to her, and her elation faded. A little flustered about how to get the bird to take her where she wanted to go, she experimentally exerted pressure with her left leg. The bird, instinctively moving away from the pressure, moved to the right. She grinned, tightened her hold on the bird, and gave it a little kick. It took off with a squawk and a lurch that almost unseated her. Quickly growing accustomed to its awkward gait, she guided it with her legs to the north. As the forest and Sephiroth fell behind her, she gave herself over to the experience and enjoyed the wind caressing her face, and the novelty of the animal beneath her. The bird carried her tirelessly for quite some time; occasionally it would slow to spend a few minutes pecking at the ground or drink from one of the small bodies of water that they encountered, but at her gentle insistence it would continue on its way. They passed through a valley surrounded by large, rolling hills, and just as the sky was beginning to darken she caught sight of a cluster of lights in the distance. As they neared, she could see the lights belonged to a village, and excitedly she urged the Chocobo on a little faster. She let the bird slow to a halt not far from the gathering of buildings, and slid from its back. Her muscles, unaccustomed to sitting astride a bird, protested the move. Her magic had worn off sometime earlier, but she had been unaware of just how much her body hurt until asking it to move. Leaning against the bird she allowed herself a moment to gather her strength before giving the bird an affectionate pat on the neck. It warked at her, bobbed its head, and began walking back the way it came. She turned to regard the lights before her; this must be Kalm, and this was where Cloud would be. Slowly, painfully, she began heading towards the village.

As she entered the perimeter of the village she looked around in open curiosity. It was quaint and scenic even in the dying light. The streets were blue cobblestone and the buildings were uniformly made of white and grey brick. There was a two-story inn at the entrance to the village; Aerith realized that that was most likely where Cloud and his companions would be. From out of the shadows of a small alley nearby a fat grey cat emerged; purring loudly, it stopped to rub itself against her bare legs. With a small smile she knelt and began to stroke the soft hide. She had always loved felines, but they were very seldom seen in the slums of Midgar. The cat, content, leaned against her as she worked her fingers deep into his fur. Suddenly it became playful, and swatted at her hand. Chuckling, she allowed the cat to tackle her hand and gnaw on it with somewhat sharp teeth. A noise across the street sent the cat scurrying away; Aerith looked up to see the door to the inn open, and several people arguing in loud voices spilled out into the street. She straightened, watching them, when suddenly a head of flyaway blonde hair caught her eye.

_Cloud!_ She stepped forward and opened her mouth to call out a greeting—

She was seized suddenly around the waist from behind; a split second later a hand clamped over her mouth. She was hauled with astonishing speed backwards, into the shadowy depths of the alley from which the cat had emerged. She knew who held her, and she twisted and tried to bite her way past the hand over her mouth. Her shouts were muffled and too quiet, she knew, to be heard. She screamed and yelled until she was out of breath; she watched in utter dismay as Cloud and his companions, still bickering noisily, walked past the entrance to the alley without looking her way. She heard her name spoken as they passed by and she took momentary hope in that fact. Then the sounds of their voices faded, and she was left suddenly very alone with the man she feared than most anything else in the world.

"You're either very foolish or very stupid," he said in a deathly soft voice, leaning so close that his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. He tightened his hold around her waist so that it pressed against her ribs; her whimper of pain was thoroughly muffled by his hand. Just as suddenly he released her, his palm leaving her mouth, whirling her around with a hand on her shoulder. He was an imposing shadow, a contrast of white against black and the brilliance of his green eyes stood out like a beacon. Those eyes were narrowed dangerously now as he regarded her with blatant anger, and she swallowed nervously.

"Which is it? " He demanded. "I think it's both. You were a fool to think I wouldn't find you, and stupid to try it at all. Although," he paused, and when he continued his voice was mocking, "Catching a Chocobo was something I never thought you'd think of, let alone accomplish. I must give you credit for that."

Her breath left her in a furious hiss. One moment he made her fear for her life; the next he was ridiculing her. Never in her life had anyone made her feel as pathetic, as insignificant, as he. She yearned to claw those remarkable eyes from his face; to rip that arrogant expression from him. So caught up in her rage was she that she unconsciously took a step towards him. He smiled then, a condescending curve of the lips, as if he knew what it was she was thinking and feeling.

"Foolish, " he said again. "Few people have made me angry and survived."

"Kill me, then," she snapped.

To her astonishment, he threw back his head and laughed. "Such bravery!"

Unthinking, she lashed the only way she could. Snatching the materia from her pocket, she held it before her and began chanting quickly, urgently. It began to glow brilliantly white and Sephiroth's eyes widened at the sight of it. Before she could finish what she'd started, he struck out with one arm, and the materia went flying from her grasp to land with a chiming sound some feet away. He caught her wrist and, wrenching it, drew her roughly closer to him.

"So," he said almost casually, "that's what you used on me. Once again, girl, you take me by surprise."

Helpless tears of frustration burned her eyes and she fought them back. She pulled at his grasp; he retaliated by pulling her so close she could feel his breath against her cheek.

"But this is the last time," his voice was dangerously serious. "I promise you, you won't get the opportunity again."

He pushed past her, and still holding her by the wrist began leading her from the alley. "Where are we going?" She asked of him desperately, struggling to keep her voice even, to keep from screaming her anger and fear. He didn't glance back, but replied over his shoulder. "To the inn. I rented us a room for the night."

For a moment she considered fighting with everything she had; would it be enough for her to get away, to flee to the welcome safety of Cloud and his friends? Even as the first tears spilled over she knew it wouldn't, knew that whatever little freedom she had experienced would be the last. Sephiroth would not be caught unawares again, and she bowed her head against the bitter defeat she could no longer deny.

She could not escape. And she was certain that wherever he was taking her, it boded ill.

**.x. **


	5. Five

**.5.**

Aerith followed Sephiroth obediently for a few steps as he roughly pulled her behind him. Remembering suddenly her materia, she came to an abrupt halt. Sephiroth stopped as well, turning to fix her with an impatient glare.

"My materia," she said by way of explanation. With a curt nod he released her arm and she quickly ran to where her materia lay, gleaming white even in the confined shadows. As she returned it to her pocket she cast one last desperate look around. The alley extended only a short ways behind her before it met a brick wall. At the mouth of the alley Sephiroth stood, tall and indomitable and effectively blocking any chance of escape. She briefly contemplated another attempt at using her materia to subdue him, or at least render him harmless. Watching the thought flicker across her expressive face, Sephiroth said flatly, "Don't."

She glanced at him nervously and quickly disregarded the notion. If she wanted to get by without rousing his wrath she would have to tread carefully. She haltingly made her way back to him, and when he gestured for her to proceed him she did. Their exit from the alley revealed the closest streets of Kalm to be devoid of people, as she had feared. She cast a harried look at the exit of the village but quickly quelled the urge to make a mad dash for it; she could feel his watchful gaze against her back and knew he was waiting for her to attempt just that. She bowed her head in bitter resignation and instead continued to the inn. As she reached the door he moved in front of her, opening the door and guiding her through with an arm against her back. The interior was brightly lit and would have been cheery had the circumstances been different. Directly across from the entrance was the large reception desk. Aerith kept her face averted and her eyes downcast as the burly innkeeper, recognizing the legendary General, stammered enough to inform them that the best room in the building was ready for their arrival. Sephiroth, with a brusque nod, headed for the stairs with Aerith in tow. She had to run to keep up with his long strides. They quickly climbed two flights of stairs, and on the third floor Sephiroth paused only long enough to locate the room he had previously booked. He unlocked the door with the key he produced from a pocket, led them both inside, and releasing her arm turned to lock it again.

Apprehensive at the prospect of being confined in such close quarters with Sephiroth, Aerith retreated to one of the two beds in the corner of the room and sat down. With her back against the headboard she drew her knees to her chest and watched him through widened eyes. He turned from the door and strode to the window, drawing the shutters close with such force that the window rattled before proceeding to lock them. He was, Aerith realized with a sinking heart, effectively cutting off all routes of escape. Sensing her attention, he turned and regarded her with a hooded gaze for so long that she began to fidget uncomfortably.

"Give me your materia." he said finally.

"No." She replied without thinking, and then felt the blood drain from her face.

"No?" He repeated, raising one arched brow.

"It's mine," she said weakly, her hand moving to the pocket where the materia in question lay.

"I can't very well let you keep it. You may," he said with some irritation, "attempt to use it on me again."

"No," Aerith repeated, her hand closing over the small orb through the fabric of her dress. She couldn't let him have it; it was the one thing that was truly hers, and it without it she felt lost.

"I will take it from you," he said, warning heavy in his tone.

"Please ... I promise I won't use it. Let me keep it." She pleaded.

He was shaking his head, sending ripples through the cascade of his snowy hair. He advanced on her, one step at a time, until he loomed before her as she huddled at the head of the bed. He extended one hand, palm up. His nearness disconcerted her; she looked anywhere but at him. After long moments, sensing his growing ire, she hesitantly lifted the materia from the pocket and dropped it in his hand. His fingers curled over it, and he raised it to his eyes. Aerith closed her eyes against the sudden loss of feeling. The white materia served as an amplifier for her senses; she could sense things that most others couldn't. As long as it was near her, she was almost one with all that was nature. She could always feel the pulsing of life from those who surrounded her; could always feel a comforting presence that never strayed far from her. Touching the materia caused these sensations to increase, and at times it was almost as if she could here things speaking to her, singing to her. She had been with the materia all her life, and now as she found herself without it, in the posession of someone else, the experience was frighteningly alien. Everything was silent, and devoid of feeling. Her mind, usually filled with the comforting hum of life, was coldly silent. She realized then that Sephiroth hadn't moved from where he stood, and slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

He was watching her intently again, a speculative look on his face. "When I took your materia, you shuddered. Why?"

"I ..." She began, than trailed off. How was she to explain it to him? He was still regarding her closely, and she nervously licked her lips.

"I have never been without it for long ..."

"That's not the reason. Tell me why."

"It comforts me," she said, for lack of anything else.

"How?" He asked.

"It's hard to explain."

"Shall I try to use it?" He asked casually, raising it before him but keeping his eyes on her to gauge her reaction.

"I don't ... I don't think you can."

"No? " There it was again, that trace of mocking amusement, that infuriating pride. He focused all his attention on the ivory, swirling depths of the orb before him. Aerith, inwardly cringing, couldn't look away. A frown grew on his face, and his fingers tightened around the materia. "What-?" He said suddenly, before a brilliant white light enveloped the room. Aerith, crying out, hid her eyes from the searing light behind her hands. The glow abruptly died, and she removed her hands to look upon Sephiroth. He was down on one knee, his proud features drawn, but in his eyes was a trace of disbelief. He returned his gaze to her.

"What is this?" He whispered.

"My materia," She replied. "Nothing more."

_"Do not lie to me!"_ He ground out, rising to his feet with the speed of a striking snake. He dropped the materia as if burned, and it bounced across the floor with a clear ringing sound. He was before her in an instant, and she fell back against the pillows in order to escape his blatant rage.

"Ordinary materia does not do what yours just did," He growled, his hand seizing her wrist as she tried to slide off the other side of the bed. "Why is yours different?"

"I don't know," she said, and then gasped in pain as he wrenched sharply at her wrist. His mercurial mood swings terrified her. "I don't know why it's different," she said desperately, frantically attempting to free herself. "I've had it since I was a child. I don't know!"

He stopped then, and with no effort at all drew her upright so that she stood trembling before him. When she refused to raise her gaze, he firmly grasped her chin with one hand and tipped her head back so that her eyes had no choice but to meet his own. The rage had faded from them, leaving them to glow with their own intrinsic brilliance. His transition from fury to collected calm had been abrupt and seamless. He studied her own eyes for long moments, attempting to discern whether she was telling the truth. They stared back at him, full of fear and trepidation, their own deep green depths a distant cousin to his own. He smiled then, without humor, and released her. "You're telling me the truth."

She nodded, and immediately scurried to pick up her fallen materia. As it touched her skin, it was like being able to see again after having been blind for years. She inhaled sharply as all the acute sensations flooded back to fill her body in one glorifying rush. When she turned around, the materia safely in her pocket, the expression on Sephiroth's face was one of open curiosity.

"What happened when you touched it, just now?"

She debated not answering him, and then remembered his terrifying, quicksilver temper. "It's like breathing after being denied air, " she said simply, for that was the only way she could think to explain it..

"It enhances your senses?"

"Something like that."

"I see." He said. After another moment of staring at her contemplatively, he moved to the door. "I'm going to gather supplies for the rest of our journey. Get some rest. And," he paused, the ghost of a sardonic grin curving his lips, "Don't go anywhere."

Several replies, none of them polite, crossed her mind. Instead she watched mutely as he unlocked the door and stepped through. There was a soft noise as he turned the key in the lock from the other side, and his footsteps as he receded down the hall. She walked once again to the bed, and sank down on it. Her thoughts, a mass of muddled confusion, were rebounding with such force in her mind that her head was beginning to throb. She felt totally isolated and defeated; she was captive of an inhuman and unstable man, who wanted no doubt to murder her. She was too tired for tears, and instead lay back against the pillows before turning on her side and curling into a ball. She closed her eyes against harsh reality and brought to mind Cloud; smiling Cloud, handsome and brave Cloud. Cloud that she may never see again. She pulled the materia from her pocket and cradled it against her cheek. Instantly some of her despair faded, and lulled by the gentle pulsing she fell slowly into sleep.

**.x.**


	6. Six

**.6.**

Sephiroth did not return to the inn until shortly before sunrise. The innkeeper, long since having deserted his post for bed, had left a single light burning in the main entry for any guests who may be returning late. Sephiroth tirelessly climbed the stairs two at a time and strode to the door of his room. He inserted the key in the lock noiselessly; just as silently he opened the door, stepped through, and closed it. The room was dark but for the first rays of light from the rising sun which filtered through the spaces in the shutters. They crept along the wooden floor and splayed out at the foot of the bed where the girl lay sleeping, turned on her side facing the door. She cradled something in the palm which was pressed against her cheek, hidden by the curve of her fingers; the white materia, no doubt. As Sephiroth studied her from where he stood, he was reluctantly forced to accept something he had been wrestling with in the hours past.

He was attracted to this girl.

He was not happy with this realization; he had no idea how this had come about, and that made him resent the fact all the more. After he had left the room earlier, locking her within, he couldn't erase the memory of the way she had felt beneath his touch, soft and trembling. He had been unable to stop thinking of how she moved with such cautious grace, either, or the way her incredibly expressive eyes flared when ever she was angry or afraid. The fact that he couldn't banish her from his thoughts was infuriating; his anger had carried him at a brisk run far from Kalm, to roam the night wilderness like some sort of deadly nocturnal apex predator. The exercise didn't help, and so he found himself pondering exaclty what it was about her, this mere slip of a mortal girl, that fascinated him so.

The answer was not forthcoming.

He had never in his life felt anything remotely similar to this about any other person. Most people he disdained or despised for their weakness and their incompetence. The number of people he respected had dwindled rapidly as he had realized who and what he was. He had no use for people; they were nothing more than parasites on this Planet, sucking it dry. Why should he care for them? He was superior to them in every single way, and he intended on eradicating all traces of their pathetic existence from the Planet. It was who he was-what he was meant to do. Why then, did this girl intrigue him as no other had? Irritated, bewildered, he studied the object of his contemplation as she lay in deep slumber before him. She was nothing, thin and pale and insubstantial. Yet his eyes followed the pleasing curve of her outline and traced paths through the thick fall of her chestnut hair as it fell, partially unbound, over her shoulders to pool on the mattress. He studied her innocent features, knowing that if her eyes were to open at that moment, their evergreen depths would add definition and contrast to the smooth lines. It was almost unbearable, the urge to draw closer, trail his fingers through her shining mane, to feel the feathery slide of her skin under his ...

He clamped his jaw shut with an audible noise, gritting his teeth against the near unbearable urges. He could not -_would not_-give into this. They were human traits, this desire and affection, and he was more than human. She was merely a tool, a vassal, something that was easily expendable. He wrestled for long moments with whatever foolish part of his brain attempted to inform him that he couldn't let Mother kill this girl, that if he moved to the bed now and touched her-

It was at that precise moment her eyes opened.

Blinking, slowly at first, she focused on him through a haze induced by sleep. Sudden recognition brought her bolt upright against the headboard of the bed, and mistrust and fear trickled into the dark depths of her eyes. She was silent, waiting, he realized, for him to say something. Struggling not to stare at her, not to watch how the play of light slid along the burnished strands of her hair, or how it gleamed off the green of her eyes, he managed to say in a voice with just the right degree of mocking condescension. "Did you sleep well?"

He noticed then the way her skin flushed, and the way her eyes darkened in anger at his words. She opened her mouth to make a reply, thought better of it, and remained silent. He smirked at the venom in the glare she directed at him and idly strode to the shutters. With one pull he swung them open, and they thudded against the wall. The sun, freed from the horizon, bathed him in its radiance. He swung around and leaned against the window sill, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well?" He asked expectantly, his smile still intact.

"I slept fine," she snapped finally, standing and slipping the materia into her pocket. Pointedly turning her back on him, she began to gather all the strands of her hair that had escaped their bindings and rebraid them. He watched her, half amused and half angry at the effect she had on him, through heavy lidded eyes. When she had finished she turned back around to find him regarding her with his infuriating smile. She yearned to slap that damned expression off his face; she settled for returning his look with an icy scowl. As she had expected, it served to do no more than increase his amusement. He pushed himself away from the window and walked to stand before her. Apprehension flooded her eyes, and she hesitantly fell back.

Perversely satisfied that he had such an effect on her, he said pleasantly, "Good, because we travel far today, and I don't wish you to hold us up."

He could see her jaw tighten in irritation, and her eyes narrowed. "Leave me here, then," she said.

He shook his head. "Oh no. I am to escort you," Here he paused to give her a parody of a courtly bow, "To Mother."

"Damn you ..." She said softly, and her expression was one of unadulterated hatred.

He laughed then, insultingly. "We're leaving in ten minutes," he said, "I'll be waiting for you downstairs."

Before he turned to walk away, he reached out and caught her chin in one hand. She pulled away; anticipating this he caught her arm with his other hand. Unable to escape, she resigned herself to his scrutiny with a heavy sigh. His eyes gazed directly into hers for long moments.

"My lady," he murmured finally, tracing a finger over her bottom lip. He smiled again, and releasing her, stepped away. Shaken, she stared at him. He said nothing, but turned and left the room.

Aerith sighed again as the door closed behind him, and this time her sigh was unsteady. She could still feel where he had touched her, his mark imprinted on her skin. Her heart was racing, and trembling she sat on the bed and rested her face in her hands.

_What was happening?_

**.x.**


	7. Seven

**.7.**

A few minutes later, Aerith left the room and hesitantly descended the stairs to the lobby of the inn. The innkeeper, his hand full of the coin payment he had just received, watched her entrance with undisguised curiosity. Sephiroth was standing before a window near the main door, his attention on something outside. He turned as she stepped off the final stair, and one glance was enough to tell her that he was once again the infamous general; austere, collected, and calm. He said nothing to her, merely indicated with a tip of his head that she was to precede him through the door. She did as he directed, and as she walked through the door she had to squint against the harsh glare of the early morning sun. She turned to Sephiroth, uncertain of where she was to go. He remained silent, and gestured with one arm to the exit of the village. With a sigh, she began to walk.

He said nothing to her as they left Kalm and travelled in a south eastern direction. Their pace was steady, enough so that she was striving to keep up with his long strides. Every now and then she would fall behind, and he would slow enough to let her catch up to him. He was radiating impatience, and it gave her a sense of bizarre satisfaction to know that her human inhibitions nettled him. She knew better than to say anything that would rile him, and so she remained silent as well. The day was bright and warm, and Aerith found herself wishing that she was able to enjoy this new experience. While attempting to maintain the pace Sephiroth set, she took whatever opportunity she could to admire the passing scenery. He, on the other hand, appeared to have no appreciation whatsoever for the picturesque rolling hills with long grass that danced gently in the breeze, or the blue tinged outline of mountains that loomed majestically in the distance. He walked with single minded purpose, and his eyes did not stray from his path.

After a few hours of continuing this way, Sephiroth slowed to a halt. Aerith, surprised, stopped some feet behind him. He turned and tossed something her way; catching it, she found it to be a strip of dried meat. "Eat it," he ordered, "And rest. We'll be moving again soon."

Aerith did as he ordered, and began gnawing on the meat which she discovered to be pleasantly seasoned. She took the opportunity to sit on the ground, stretching her aching legs out before her. Her tattered skirt, now hanging above her knees, was stained with dirt and blood and she ruefully wished she had something more practical for travelling. She turned her attention to the sprawling panorama of scenery before her. They had travelled a fair distance, and now the mountains were considerably closer, casting down their shadow. Before them were more hills, but they were tapering out and she wondered what lay beyond them, for that was the way they were headed. She chewed the last of the meat and swallowed. Bracing her arms, she let her head fall back and felt the warm rays of the sun caress her face. It was soothing and she closed her eyes. Because of her materia, she felt the gentle rhythms of all the life that surrounded her, and she gave herself over to them. It was almost hypnotizing, but also comforting, and it was with great reluctance that she pulled herself away from the sensations and raised her head. She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly for a moment to adjust to the sun. She wondered how much time had passed since they had halted and looked around for her captor.

She found him not far away, standing silhouetted by the sun, facing her. She could not see his face as it was in shadow, but she had the distinct and unnerving impression that he had been watching her.

"What did you feel, just now?" He asked, confirming her suspicion.

It was a vague question, but she understood his meaning. She cast about for a definable answer. There was only one answer she could give. "Life." She said simply.

He considered this, and then nodded his head. He said then, "Come. We must continue."

Stifling a weary sigh, she got to her feet. He had already began walking, and so she hurried to catch up with him. They walked as they had before, in silence. His unflagging strength was beginning to irritate her; more and more often he had to stop and wait for her. He said nothing, however, and she did not fret overly much. The sun had risen to its midday position before they stopped again. Aerith had been deep in thought and as such almost collided with his solid form as he abruptly halted. She stepped up beside him to see what exactly he was staring at. There, a few kilometres away situated on a plain, was what looked to be a farm.

"What is that place?" Aerith asked.

"A Chocobo farm." Was his reply. He closed his eyes then, and lines of intense concentration appeared on his face. She watched him for a moment, bewildered but instinctively knowing he was using his powers. So deep was his focus that Aerith seized the opportunity, and began slowly edging away. She had no idea how long he would remain this way, but it could be enough that she could get a head start, and maybe catch a Chocobo ...

His eyes opened, and he turned his head to regard her partially retreating form. She froze but said nothing, and a trace of a knowing smile crossed his face. He looked back at the Chocobo farm, and Aerith followed his gaze with her own. She raised a hand to ward off the brightness of the sun, and was able to make out a moving form headed towards them. "What ...?"

"Our mount," He said. "We are moving too slowly."

She stiffened at this, knowing that he meant _she_ was moving too slowly. They waited for several minutes in silence as the large bird drew closer and closer. As it came to a halt, Aerith fell back a step, for it was a great black beast of a creature. Its eyes, the color of mahogany, were not friendly as it glared at them both. However, it came obediently to Sephiroth, and when he laid a gloved hand on the side of its neck it did not protest. He stroked the feathered neck briefly, and then held out a hand to Aerith. "Come," he said.

Suddenly the prospect of sharing a mount with him was very unappealing. She shook her head, and he frowned.

"What's the problem? You seemed to like them well enough earlier," he said.

She didn't reply; it wasn't the Chocobo that was the issue. Reading her expressions, he grinned with malevolent mischief. "Come now," he said, in the familiar sardonic tone she knew so well, "I won't bite."

Aerith swallowed, but slowly walked to his side. His expression didn't alter as she neared, and she could see his eyes dancing in amusement. It was enough to make her irritation rise. Seeing this, he chuckled, and reached out to catch her by the waist. She went rigid at his touch, and his chuckle deepened as he lifted her and positioned her firmly between the Chocobo's wings. Moments later he swung up behind her. She gritted her teeth at his touch against her back, but held her silence. When one arm firmly encircled her waist, however, she made a small noise of protest.

"It's only to ensure your safety," he said mockingly, his breath brushing her ear. She said nothing, but fumed silently as she knew how much he was enjoying her discomfiture. His arm remained, and with a gentle nudge he sent the Chocobo moving beneath them. The bird covered great distance with its strides, and the world began passing quickly by. Aerith gave up on watching the scenery and, lulled by the rhythmic movements of the bird, began to gently drift off into sleep.

**.x.**

This had not been a good idea.

He had thought having a Chocobo mount would make up for their dismal amount of progress thus far, and indeed, it had. The problem was having the girl seated directly in front of him, with everything about her enticing him. He had no choice but to wrap one arm around her waist, for the bird's gait was awkward enough to unseat her. He had thoroughly enjoyed unsettling her, for he knew that she was wary of both him and his behaviour. His satisfaction was short lived, however, as he became acutely aware of the feel of her body held tight against him and the exotic scent of her hair that fell in a thick mass between them. The attraction he felt was utterly confusing and frustrating, and he was torn between wanting to bury his face in her hair and wrapping his hands around the slender column of her throat and throttling her. He settled with tightening his grasp around her waist, and pulling her body firmly against his own. Her head rolled limply forwards, telling him she was asleep. He sighed, wishing he could be as oblivious to her as she was to him.

Perhaps, he mused, this attraction would be best dealt with if not ignored.

Her head fell to the side. He stared at the smooth expanse of her neck and had to struggle not to lean forward and-

He closed his eyes tightly.

Obviously, despite all his efforts, this affliction could not be ignored nor controlled. And if he had to succumb to anything, he would do it _his_ way. So he would explore this new phenomena; surely no harm could come of it ...

The girl shifted in her sleep, and fell back against him. His body tightened, and he growled his exasperation. Maybe exploring affliction would be for the best.

**.x.**


	8. Eight

_Carry me away. I need your strength to get me through this. Dare to believe, oh, for one last time. And then I'll let the darkness cover me, deny everything. Slowly walk away to breathe again on my own ..._

_Darkness - Disturbed_

----- 

Aerith was jolted roughly from her sleep. Eyes flying open, she realized that the black beast of a Chocobo she was seated upon had juddered to a halt. Her sudden awakening brought awareness of several things; foremost of which being the warm, solid body pressed against her back. She felt color rise into her cheeks, and straining against the arm that held her she pulled away. A sound of amusement let her know that Sephiroth was very much aware of her discomfiture. A moment later he slid from the Chocobo the ground. Before she had time to protest, he lifted her and brought her down beside him. The moment her feet touched solid ground she took several steps away, needing the distance to maintain clarity. She immediately turned her attention to their surroundings. Rising up before them was the rocky wall of a mountain side, and set within that wall was a shadowed opening. Looking back the way they had came, Aerith saw a vast expanse of mist ridden marsh stretching for as far as she could see.

Sephiroth sent the Chocobo running across the marsh with a firm slap on its withers. He glanced at Aerith and then began walking towards the entrance in the rocky incline. Aerith, following, asked, "Where are we going?" 

"Through the Mythril mine," he replied.

Aerith opened her mouth to ask another question when suddenly an unearthly roar reverberated throughout the marsh. Aerith, spinning around, cried out in horror as an enormous serpent burst forth from the waters, the black Chocobo dangling, broken, from its jaws. Water flew everywhere as the serpent shook its massive head, forcing the carcass down its throat. Sephiroth pushed Aerith behind him with one hand, and drew his masamune with the other. "Get back," He ordered tersely, and Aerith, terrified, complied. 

The serpent, moving with astonishing swiftness, slithered closer. Sephiroth strode forth to meet it. The serpent reared its head to strike; as it began to descend Sephiroth was already moving, away from the deadly jaws. He whirled, a graceful vision of death, and blood flew in crimson spray from the great scaled neck. The serpent screamed in pain; its body thrashed wildly in an attempt to crush the one that had wounded it. Pale hair flying out behind him, Sephiroth twisted lithely and launched himself into the air. Fangs snapped shut where he had been just a second ago; he landed lightly on the other side of the coiled body.

Aerith watched the deadly dance between man and serpent in horrified awe. It was unthinkable: the speed, agility and raw power with which Sephiroth moved. The serpent was easily one of the most monstrous things she had ever seen; the blinding quickness it posessed was matched evenly with that of the man. The serpent was completely focused on Sephiroth; the former general was leading it away, she realized. His purpose in doing so was very soon revealed; rising up from the rocky ground stood the jagged remains of what had once been a tree, burned and charred as if struck by lightning. Sephiroth halted abruptly; the serpent lunged for him. What happened next was but a blur to Aerith. Sephiroth dropped his masamune and leapt. He seized the serpent's neck, and twisting fiercly in mid air, forced the massive head down. With a strangled shriek, the serpent was brutally impaled on the sharp remains of the tree. The sinous body thrashed and contorted in its dying throes; Sephiroth tumbled down to crouch safely some distance away. Long minutes passed before the serpent's body gave one last twitch before falling still. The harsh, biting scent of blood clouded the air; garishly crimson rivers poured from the serpents neck to stain the marsh water. 

Aerith, vaguely aware she was trembling, watched Sephiroth as he rose to his feet and strode to retrieve his fallen sword. He wiped the blood from it with one gloved hand before smoothly returning it to the sheath across his back.

He was hardly, she realized numbly, breathing hard. 

He looked at her then, his expression unreadable. "Come," he said, and walked to the opening in the rocky wall. Aerith, with one last fearful glance at the bloodied, gruesome corpse of the serpent, hurried to follow.

They entered the mines, and soon their path was dark but for the stray patches of sunlight slipping through holes and cracks in the cavern ceiling. The walls surrounding them caught the light and reflected it off of the shards of Mythril embedded in them. Aerith, struggling to remain calm after what she had just seen, found the whole place rather beautiful. Washes of blue and green light fell over them as Sephiroth led the way unerringly, weaving a path through a myriad of confusing, intertwining corridors and open areas. They maintained silence as they travelled, and their footsteps echoed hollowly throughout the recesses of the caverns. Aerith quickly became lost, and gave up all attempts to discern which direction they were now headed. She was about to ask how much farther the caves went on when Sephiroth halted in his tracks, poised alertly. Aerith froze as well, wondering what had captured his attention. 

Then she heard it.

Voices. 

There was no way to make out what was being said, but it was clear that whoever was speaking was quickly drawing nearer to their position. Sephiroth swore softly, eyes darting around the interior of the large cavern they were in. Towards the middle yawned a gaping chasm; a thundering sound from within indicated it was a channel for an underground river. On the other side of the chasm, which was bridged by a narrow span of natural rock formation, was what appeared to be a darkened tunnel, presumably the exit from this complex mass of caves.

"Halt!"

The shout rang clearly throughout the cavern. Sephiroth stopped, and till holding Aerith firmly by the arm turned to see who had discovered them. Aerith, catching sight of the speaker in question, gasped. _"Tseng!"_

It was indeed Tseng, followed immediately by Reno, Rude, and a blonde woman Aerith did not recognize. She knew the members of the Turks quite well; for most of her life she had worked at avoiding capture at their hands. She was more familiar with Tseng, however, for they had been childhood playmates and had grown up together. They were - almost - friends. At the sight of him, hope welled up within her. "Tseng!" she called out, taking a step forward only to be pulled back by Sephiroth's restraining grip.

Tseng, recognizing Aerith, quickly made his way down the rocky embankment he stood on. The three others followed suit. As Tseng neared, his steps slowed, eyes widening as they settled on the snow maned man holding her captive. "Sephiroth!" 

"I told you he was back," Reno said from beside Rude.

"Turks," Sephiroth drawled. "What an unpleasant surprise." 

"Aerith, are you alright?" Tseng asked, eyes moving back to her.

"Yes," she replied tremulously. Tseng looked then at Sephiroth. 

"What do you want with her?"

"That," Sephiroth replied evenly, "Is none of your concern." He began moving again, but Aerith resisted. 

"Tseng, help me -" she bit off her words as Sephiroth sharply wrenched her arm, and made a small sound of pain.

"Release her!" Tseng thundered, drawing from within his jacket an automatic pistol. The three behind him did the same. 

Sephiroth, shaking his head, began to laugh with derision. Aerith, desperate, wrenched away with all her strength. She escaped his grasp and bolted for Tseng. Sephiroth lunged after her, and pandemonium erupted.

Someone opened fire. 

Aiming for Sephiroth, the blonde woman's shots went wide, biting into the rock bridge and sending up a spray of debris.

"Elena, _NO!_" Tseng yelled, moving to stop her from firing. 

The rock span beneath Aerith and Sephiroth shook violently, sending Sephiroth unsteadily down on one knee. Cracks appeared, spidery lines, where Aerith was standing. Panicked, she flung herself forwards. The bridge trembled and then began to crumble. Pieces began to fall from beneath her feet. Her attempt to reach safe ground fell short, and with a terrified scream she plunged from sight.

_"AERITH!"_ Tseng cried, leaping forwards. 

Sephiroth had jumped easily to the opposite side where the exit stood. He stared into the chasm, his helpless fury rising as Aerith's scream echoed throughout the cave.

Rude had knocked the gun from Elena's hand, and now the blonde woman was staring in astonished disbelief at the spot Aerith had just been standing. The entire bridge had fallen away, and now the Turks were effectively separated from the former general. For a moment Sephiroth and Tseng stared at each other from across the open void; with a snarl Sephiroth sent waves of white flame exploding across the chasm. Tseng scrambled backwards, away from the blistering heat. 

When the fire had faded, Sephiroth was gone.

----- 

_Damn them!_

Unbridled rage carried Sephiroth out of the caves and racing along the rock strewn slope on the other side of the mine. He knew which body of water the underground river flowed into; he held very little hope that the girl would survive that far. 

_Bloody fools!_ He howled silently, running now through thick forest. He forced his senses outward, crawling over the land. Where was the river? He stopped running, calmed his breathing, and concentrated.

_Forest._

_Tree._

_Animal._

_Water -_

He bgean sprinting again, following the gentle flow in his senses indicating the river. Branches whipped his face, ripped at his hair. He dodged trees and leapt over underlying roots and fallen limbs. The part of his mind no focused on searching was in a state of something akin to frantic turmoil. Was she dead? Would the current even carry her outside the caves, or would she lie forever at the bottom of a mountain stream? 

He came upon the river so swiftly that he plunged right in. As the water, bone chillingly cold, rose up around his boots he began to wade steadily upstream, tracing it back to its source. He noticed that the water was not deep, and that the river bed consisted mainly of large, jagged rocks. He continued on, fighting against the current. Around him rocky ledges arose, worn from the passage of raging waters a millennia ago. The river was now contained within a canyon, and rising up sharply before him was the mountainside.

There was the river mouth, pouring out from a small opening in the cliff face, forming a slight waterfall. At the base of the waterfall was a small pool which in turn fed the actual river. Sephiroth splashed into the pool, halting when the water passed his waist, and began scanning the shores. The current was not strong here, and he doubted very much that, had she even been carried out of the mountain, she would not have gone beyond this point. He waded around to the far side of the waterfall, blinking as the gentle spray misted in his eyes. He could see no sign of her here. Wading to the other side he tossed his now sopping hair over his shoulders while continuing to search. 

He saw her then, lying facedown at the far shore of the pool. Her lower half was still submerged in the water; the swirl of the current pulled at the tattered pieces of her skirt and some tendrils of her hair. As he drew closer he could see lesions and abrasions against the pallid color of her skin. She did not move; he knelt by her and gently turned her upright. Checking first for a pulse, and then for breath, he was relieved to find that she was - just barely - alive. Upon closer inspection he noticed the bluish tinge to her lips, and the way her skin seemed to glow with an eerie iridescence in time to her pulse. Holding her up with one arm, he stared at the water around them. The abundance of life surrounding this river indicated a healthy mako content. The water of the world gained its life giving mako from the Lifesteam, deep underground. He looked at the girl closely again, inspecting the signs. There was no disputing it; she was exhibiting the symptoms of mako poisoning. He suspected that within the confines of the Mythril mine the river, at one point, merged with the Lifestream, and the girl had been submerged there.

He stood then, gathering her limp form carefully into his arms. He could feel, even through the barrier of his gloves, the chill her body emanated. He stood for a moment, debating the next course of action; the next area with any type of medical clinic was the port city of Junon, but it was a long distance away and he doubted the girl would survive that journey. No, they needed immediate shelter and warmth. He rotated on the spot, looking for some sort of opening in the cliff face. There was more than one exit from the Mythril mine, he knew. It didn't take him long to find one; a shadowed crack in the rock wall not too far above their current location. He began picking his way carefully up the gentle incline, easing around large rocks and other debris. He had to enter the opening sideways, with the girl held tightly against his chest. The interior revealed that it was a small cave, circular in shape. It was quite dark; very little sunlight slipped past the craggy entrance. Satisfied it would do, he laid the girl down on the rocky floor. Igniting a materia fire was a small matter; the orange flame that rose from the ground gave off comfortable heat and could burn for hours unattended. 

With a source of heat now available, he knelt again at the side of the girl. He had never treated mako poisoning before, but he had seen it often among the ranks of SOLDIER. He had no idea how severe her case was; the fact that she was still alive was promising. Removing his gloves he laid the back of his head against her forehead. Her skin was clammy and icy. He gently moved her closer to the fire. He amplified his own power into that of his healing materia set into his blade, and flooded her with healing magic. It would not cure the poisoning, he knew, but it would help ease her pain. Shrugging out of his greatcoat, he draped it over her; for leather, it was surprisingly warm. Bare now from the waist up, he shifted himself closer to the blaze to ward off the damp chill. His hair was dripping uncomfortably cold rivulets down his back; he gathered the sopping mass into one hand and began wringing it. When the excess water had been removed, he tossed it back over one shoulder. Rearranging himself so that he sat cross legged, he reached behind and undid the clasp that fastened the masamune sheath to his back. Setting the sword down beside him, he pulled his knees up to his chest. Resting his chin on his knees, he regarded the unconscious girl.

Her sickly countenance did nothing to discourage the attraction he felt for her. If anything, he felt apprehensive; almost fearful that she would die. He wanted to enfold her in his embrace and give her his own warmth. The urge to reach out and stroke her brow, give her a comforting touch was almost overwhelming. These feelings were disconcerting, and he hated that. In the mines, when she had called out to Tseng with such hope, he had irrationally wanted to strike the Turk down right there. And when she had fallen, screaming, from his sight - he had been so close to leaping after her that it startled him. 

His life had always been different from that of everyone else, for he was separate from them all; a greater entity. What possible need could someone like himself have for affection, and friendship? He had always regarded such things with scorn. How ironic, he mused, that he now found himself at their mercy.

The girl had begun to tremble during his reverie; gentle shivering at first but increasing in strength. He grew concerned; he had done all he could to keep her warm. 

Unless -

_No._ He wouldn't give in, he wouldn't. He was above such things. 

Lines of pain were creasing her brow as her body shook forcefully to try and retain heat. Torn, Sephiroth stared at her, feeling, for the first time in his recollection, helpless.

He wouldn't do it ... 

The girl curled into a ball, folding in on herself. With a muttered oath he moved swiftly to her side. Lifting the coat, he eased down behind her, shaping his body against hers, encircling her with his strong arms. The force of her shaking rocked them both, and he drew her tight against him while at the same time covering their bodies with the coat. He felt awkward and strange; human contact was something he went out of his way to avoid. Gradually her tremors ceased, and her body relaxed against his own. Emotions he'd never known he had were battling within him; with a muffled groan he buried his face into her neck. The feel of her, so soft in his arms, was going to drive him insane. She was so small; his arms encircled her completely. He could feel how frail she was beneath his own superior strength.

_Why,_ he demanded silently of whatever had struck him with this affliction, _have you done this to me?_

No answer came. Battling his chaotic feelings, he drew her in tightly and stared into the dark.


	9. Nine

----- 

_You claimed all this time that you would die for me. Why then are you so surprised when you hear your own eulogy?_

_Eulogy - Tool_

-----

_Aching._ Her entire being was aching; steady, pulsing throbs. 

Awareness returned slowly, filtering pieces at a time. With the awareness came pain, compounding with the aching; burning, rending sensations, as though her insides were being shredded with a thousand hot blades. Whimpering, she tried to shrink, tried to fold into herself so that the torture would fade. The movement caused the agony to increase, radiating now in concentric waves.

She whimpered. 

At the sound, something wrapped around her waist tightened. In one sudden frantic rush she became fully awake. Several things were immediately apparent: she was bitterly cold, a hard, uneven surface was beneath her, and she was firmly encircled by something warm and solid. Panic crept through her, and she tried desperately to recall what had happened to her, where she was -

She remembered Tseng. 

Falling.

_Sephiroth._

Full recollection flooded her; eyes flew open. She lay on her side, and she was covered from the neck down by something heavy and black. It was a coat.

Sephiroth's coat. 

She stiffened in startled realization. At the motion, she felt the solid warmth at her back shift. The pressure around her middle loosened. Refusing to move, she closed her eyes fearfully.

"You are awake?" 

Her fears had been justified. In a tremulous whisper she replied, "Yes."

He moved again, carefully extracting her from his embrace. She shivered involuntarily as the loss of his body heat against her back as he left from beneath the coverage of his coat. Clasping the heavy leather to her like some sort of shield, she uncurled painfully from her huddled position. The momentum of raising herself from the ground made her suddenly very disoriented; the world tilted alarmingly. The internal pain, which had somewhat subsided upon her awakening, rushed back with a vengeance. Gasping, she dropped the coat to clutch her sides, and waited for it to pass. When it had, she opened her eyes to find Sephiroth crouched on the other side of the blackened remains of a fire, watching her with an unreadable expression. Disconcerted by what she had awoken to, she asked him hesitantly, her voice weak, "What happened?" 

"You fell into an underground river when the Turks destroyed the bridge. I found you in the river outside the mountain."

Aerith didn't respond, gritting her teeth as tearing agony ripped through her insides. Observing her pain, Sephiroth said, "I think you contracted Mako poisoning from the river somehow. That's what you're feeling." 

The pain wasn't subsiding. Biting down hard on a scream of anguish, she fell backwards. Her hands scrabbled at the rocky ground as the shredding torment bowed her spine. All control of her body was gone, and she writhed helplessly under the onslaught of the poison flowing through her veins. Through eyes dark with suffering she looked at him pleadingly. _Help me!_ she cried to him silently.

He came to kneel by her contorted form, as another spasm caused her back to concave, rising from the ground. His face was impassive as he gazed down upon her, but he reached out and laid one hand on her forehead as a breathless, choking cry escaped her lips. "The poison is passing through your system," he said. The spasms receded, leaving her exhausted and shaking. Unable to speak or move for lack of strength, she watched him, eyes clouded with confusion as he gently stroked her brow. "It will be over soon," he told her, reaching out and grabbing the coat before pulling it over her once again. He glanced consideringly at the remains of the fire before rising to retrieve his sword. Using the attached materia, he brought into creation another flame. Aerith, her head turned to follow his movement, sighed faintly as the comforting warmth of the blaze washed over her. For long moments she lay thus, lightly dozing. 

Without warning, she began to convulse again. The coat was quickly dislodged by her thrashing. She did scream then, as the poison caused her muscles to tense beyond their capacity. This spasm was worse than the last; she doubled over as the convulsions grew violent enough to interfere with her breathing. As her desperate attempts to bring air into her lungs grew more audible, Sephiroth decisively returned to her side. He caught hold of her flailing wrists and forced her arms to straighten out above her head. This caused her torso to unfold, and her breathing resumed with a harsh rasp. As her body bucked and twisted in the throes of the poison he leaned over her, positioning himself in such a way that the spasms could not raise her from the ground. Her eyes were open, unfocused, staring at the ceiling. A small trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. Almost knocking him over, her entire body thrashed once more before going rigid, and then falling limp.

Her hair, damp with sweat, was plastered to the side of her face. A heavy, overwhelming weariness was creeping over her. She tried to keep her lids from closing; she wanted to watch him as he knelt over her, his hair a silver veil around them, his eyes narrowed in concern. He released her wrists, and she could no longer remain awake. Her eyes closed, and she was carried away ... 

Just before she lost all consciousness, she felt him lay down beside her, facing her. Arms, so strong, encircled her, and drew her closer. With her face pressed against the powerful firmness of his bare chest, she fell away into the welcoming dark.


	10. Ten

----- 

_I embrace my desire to swing on a spiral and still be a human._

_Lateralus - Tool_

-----

He should leave her here. 

Standing near the entrance of the cave, sword once again across his back, Sephiroth regarded the peacefully slumbering form of the girl.

The Cetra. 

_Aerith._

Long hours had passed, and he had spent them beside the girl, arms wrapped securely around her. He had done something unheard of, unthinkable; he had pushed aside all thoughts, all knowledge that this should not be, and surrendered to the moment. Allowing himself just once, to feel protective and affectionate. 

Allowing himself, just once, to be human

. Too soon, he had been pulled from this pleasant escape; Mother, angry and impatient, called for him, and he had no choice but to answer. _-WHERE IS THE CETRA?-_ Mother wanted to know. And Sephiroth, without hesitating, told Mother the truth. They had been delayed, but soon would be reunited. Mother was hardly placated, but accepted his words. And Sephiroth then realized that there was nothing he could do, that this impertinent slip of a girl was accompanying him to her death. 

For an unprecedented moment, he felt regret.

He bowed his head then, fighting against the unfamiliar remorse that was spreading throughout him. He could leave her here, and head for Junon on his own. She would survive; the poison had passed, and though she was weak she would soon recover. Mother never need know what had happened; he could claim they had been attacked and she had died ... 

_No._

He could not. He would not. He was not fettered by the same chains that held mortals. He had ascended, and he would do as he must. The girl must be brought to Mother - she was a threat to them both. Yet, even as he watched her slight form rise and fall with the rhythm of her gentle breathing, he wondered how she could be a menace. She was everything that was innocence and light; surely she could not stand against the unimaginable power that was Mother and Son. He closed his eyes, his decision made. He could not betray Mother. 

The girl shifted in her sleep, and his gaze was upon her in an instant. Still asleep; how enchanting the thick, tangled mass of her shining hair, as it splayed across her brow and onto the ground. Almost instinctively he strode to where she lay and knelt. Her face, partially turned his way, was peaceful in repose. He recalled the way she had felt in his embrace and once again was flooded in regret. He knew then that she affected him as no other had, or would again.

He would miss her. 

How strange, he mused, reaching out a finger to trace it lightly over the smooth lines of her brow. How strange that he hardly knew her, that she was his captive; despite these reasons he knew that he would remember her long after she was gone. There was no way to explain it, and he didn't care to. There was no need, not any longer. The girl's eyes fluttered, long lashes feathery soft against his hand, before opening slowly. He withdrew his hand and made it a fist to stop from touching her again. Recognition filled her eyes, followed instantaneously by apprehension, curiosity. She moved a little, testing her body for pain. He watched as a small grimace of pain clouded her face, quickly gone. He sat back on his heels as she arranged herself in a sitting position. Color flooded her face abruptly, and he could only guess that memories of her earlier awakenings had returned. He did not bother to hide the barest of smiles that curved his lips. She noticed, and her color deepened, but she said nothing and instead handed him his coat. He accepted with one hand.

"Are you still in pain?" He asked her. 

"Some." She replied quietly, studiously avoiding his gaze.

"The poison has passed. Your strength will return in time." 

She nodded, but still would not look at him. He continued, "We must leave now. We still have a long distance to cover."

Her eyes turned to him then, sharply. "Where are we going?" 

"Junon. From there we shall cross the ocean, to the other continent."

"And then?" There was no mistaking her rising fear. 

Inwardly, he sighed. To her he said, "And then we go to Mother."

She glanced away quickly so he could not see how utterly terrified she was. Her hands betrayed her, grasping the hem of her tattered dress so tightly her knuckles turned white. His remorse was seeping back, and this time would not be ignored. Because he could think of nothing else to do, he said, "Before we leave, there is something I must know." 

Frowning, she returned her gaze to his own. "And what is that?"

He could not have stopped himself had he wanted to. This was something he yearned to understand, longed to experience with a part of his soul not completely overshadowed by dark ambition. Unable to help himself, he caught her face in his hands. She stiffened with alarm at his touch, eyes flaring. She could not escape his grasp as he drew inevitably closer; as his mouth closed over hers a shudder of utter confusion ran through her. His kiss was firm, soft, and her brain was screaming at her a million commands. Stupefied, she watched as he pulled away, and in wonder observed as a myriad of different emotions swirled through the brilliant depths of his eyes. He smiled again. "I wanted," he said, pulling away and standing, "to know how that feels." 

He trailed his fingers through her hair, regarding her a moment longer. "I will be waiting outside," he told her. "Do not take too long."

Footfalls echoing slightly, he walked to the exit of the cave and manoeuvred through. 

Aerith, bewildered, could do no more than stare after him.


	11. Eleven

----- 

_ ... these are my words that I've never said before. I think I'm doing okay. And this is the smile that I've never shown before ..._

_So Far Away - Staind_

-----

He should not have done that. 

He paced an agitated path before the entrance to the cave, raging furiously at himself. He had given into his desires, and had actually kissed that girl, that _Cetra_ -

That human, a part of him added. 

He had actually kissed that human. No matter that he had surrendered to his mortal urges, or that if Mother ever found out she would undoubtedly disembowel him; he could not erase the feel of her lips against his: pleasing, soft, fulfilling. With a frustrated growl he whirled about and struck the cliff wall with one gloved fist. The impact shuddered pebbles loose, and they fell about him, clattering. He turned and closed his eyes against the onslaught of reactions his body was experiencing due to his hasty and altogether unwise decision. Visions of striding into the cave and claiming her as his own swam through his mind; it was with savage effort he restrained himself. He was muttering obsceneties under his breath when the soft scrape of her footfalls against the rocky ground alerted him that she was emerging. He turned to watch her, while telling himself that he was in control of his body and his emotions. The very sight of her served to prove immediately how very disillusioned he was. The expression on her face was wary, and bemused, and she refused to meet his gaze. Her heightened color did nothing to hide her state of apprehension; he knew she was reliving the kiss just as much as he.

How did he feel about it? He wondered suddenly and irrationally. Was she affected in the same way as he? Had she enjoyed it? Reining in his stampeding trade of thought with a will of iron he almost imperceptibly shook his head. He did not care how she felt, and from this point onwards whatever he felt was just as irrelevant. And so he hardened his gaze; made it cold and hostile, and fastened it on the girl. 

"May we proceed?" He asked, the cutting sharpness of his tone enough to bleed by. She stiffened at his words, and he could almost see her hackles being raised. She did meet his gaze then, and the angry venom in that one look would have stilled a lesser man. Sephiroth fed off of her rage, and his lips curved in the mocking, condescending grin she knew so well. He let his own righteous fury flow through him; fury at himself for being so weak, fury at the girl for doing this to him. He beckoned the girl to follow, and began picking his way down the slight incline towards the pool where he had found her. He heard her irritated intake of breath, and then her own hesitant sounds of descent. He moved with purpose, determined to drive these unwanted emotions and discoveries out of his system. When he had reached the bottom and stood close enough to the waterfall that its mist rose up around him he stopped and turned, watching as the girl closed the distance between them. He observed how she moved with care, obviously still in pain from her fall and the poison. Steeling himself against the wave of concern he felt, he snarled at her, "Move faster."

Her eyes flared; remarkably expressive here where they glinted in the full light of day. "I'm trying!" She snapped back at him. 

He snorted, turned, and began walking again. They spoke very little over the course of the next few hours. He kept up a steady pace as he led them out of the forested foothills and towards the awaiting plains. She followed with no complaint, although he knew she was still not at full strength and that the pace he set must be taxing. Despite his spiteful mood he stopped often, allowing her to regain her strength before continuing on again. Once they reached the plains travel became easier. Come night fall they had traversed a fare distance, and Sephiroth knew that tomorrow would find them in Junon. He called a halt as the sun sank below the horizon, leaving the world bathed in dusk. He had found them a small copse of trees to spend the night in, and as the girl sank back against the trunk of one he used his power to create yet another fire. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the rough ridges of the bark. Studying her discreetly by the light of the flame, he noticed the way weariness caused her face to become lined and drawn, and had to clamp down on the concern that sprang to life.

_I will not feel_, he thought fiercely, dangerously. _I will not._

From an inner pocket he withdrew a small pouch full of dried fruit and meat. The girl's eyes opened as he tossed it at her, and she caught it one handed. She murmurred her thanks and began to eat. He did not watch her and instead focused intensely on the fire. When she had finished she leaned her head back again. He stood abruptly, and said tonelessly. "Sleep. I won't be far from here." He waited only long enough to see the acknowledgement on her face before whirling around and stalking off into the trees. He left the small grove and walked aimlessly, thinking of anything but the frail piece of mortal flesh that waited so temptingly behind him. So focused on battling his infatuation that he was suitably surprised as the breaking light of dawn broke over the land. He had not strayed far from the trees, and when he had arrived back at the fire she was already awake and on her feet. The cold glare she levelled on him dared him to make any comment; he merely smirked and motioned for her to follow.

Midmorning found them within sight of the sea; the gleaming, moving endless blue mass stole a sigh from Aerith's throat. They followed the line of the ocean while staying several miles inland, and before long the looming harbor city of Junon rose before them. As they neared, Aerith eyed the city in trepidation; the enormous cannon Junon was famed for protruded almost obscenely over the scenic waters of the ocean. It was a garish piece of technology amidst the natural beauty of nature. Her trepidation became awe as they entered the city itself; the cannon was massive, large on a scale she had never before seen. Her attention, as they walked through the underpart of Junon, focused on an area that looked very similar to the slums in Midgar. Feeling apathy she watched small children chase a ball down a path as they passed several buildings. Sephiroth led them through the small cluster of buildings and brought them to a halt before a large steel door. Sephiroth, having done this before, pressed the switch to open the doors and led Aerith onto a large lift. As the door noisily slid shut behind them the lift began to rise, shuddering and moaning. Sephiroth was silent, and Aerith chewed her lip in apprehension. She knew that from here they would be on their way to Jenova, and that realization made her increasingly frantic. As they reached the top, the doors slid open, and they stepped out of the lift into the streets of Junon. 

They were bombarded immediately by the sound of music. Aerith, paying closer attention, realized it was the sound of a marching band. They were also besieged by crowds of people, swarming around them, chattering excitedly, watching the street before them. Sephiroth looked unexpectedly disconcerted about the turn of events, and seized Aerith by the arm before slowly edging around people to head down the street. Aerith had no choice but to follow unwillingly, but their progress was dismally slow. The sounds of the band grew louder, and Aerith craned her neck to see over the heads of everyone surrounding her. "The President!" A great cry went up all around them, and people surged forwards as a convoy of vehicles rounded a corner and drove down the street towards them. Sephiroth's grip on Aerith was broken as they were pushed and pulled; in a desperate, instinctive rush Aerith darted and wound her way through the crowd, half expecting to feel arms haul her back. Nothing came however, and using her small stature to her advantage Aerith wove her way down the street, keeping in the centre of the swarm. She was both exhilarated and frightened, and though she had no indication in the slightest of where she was going she continued all the same. Finally she reached a point where the crowd lessened, and seizing her chance she fled headlong down the street. More people where lined up along the road further down, and she quickly ensconced herself in the middle of this new crowd. She paused for a minute, standing behind a very obese man, to catch her breath. She watched people pass by, and abruptly her heart caught in her throat as she recognized one dark haired girl.

_Tifa!_

Aerith cried out her name desperately, thinking it of no use, but Tifa's head whipped around at the sound of her name. Aerith pushed free of the people and ran quickly to the other woman. Tifa was smiling, and laughing, and as she wrapped Aerith in her own embrace Aerith knew certain relief.

She had found Tifa. And with Tifa would be Cloud ... 

"What happened to you?" Tifa shouted over the noise.

"Not here," Aerith yelled back. "Let's go somewhere else." 

But as she raced after Tifa, she could not shake the dark shadow which lurked so menacingly over her joy at finding the others. Sephiroth would be furious, and his search would be relentless.

_Cloud ..._

She would have Cloud, and hopefully it would be enough.


	12. Twelve

----- 

_So alone. Sometimes I swear that I can hear the taunting of the voiceless ones._

_Totalimmortal - AFI_

-----

Breathless, gasping, Tifa and Aerith entered a doorway, one of many, off the crowded streets of Junon. They had to shove and push their way through the gathered throng of people who had come to see the President's parade. Once inside it was revealed they had entered an large bar. After pausing momentarily to catch her breath, Tifa gently caught Aerith by the arm. "This way," she said, and began leading the other towards the back of the bar, to a large spiralling staircase. Aerith followed, feeling weak; she was caught between euphoria and cold dread. She had escaped him; how long until he found her again? As she climbed the stairs after Tifa she stubbornly shook her head. She was safe; she had found her friends ... 

Tifa led her then down a dimly lit corridor with doors on either side. She halted at the door marked 301 and knocked twice. There was a sound from within, and the door cracked open. "Tifa?" asked a deep, growly voice from within.

"It's me," Tifa replied, and the door opened. A four legged creature stood there; fiery red fur and a fierce countenance. One amber eye, remarkable in its shrewd intelligence, widened as it travelled from Tifa to the bedraggled girl standing behind her. 

"You! " Said the catlike creature in startled recognition.

Aerith took a hesitant step backwards. "You know each other?" Tifa asked. 

"We met ... in the lab ..." Aerith said hesitantly.

"I apologize for the somewhat violent facade I put up back there," Said the creature, "Rest assured I really had no intentions of eating you." 

Tifa giggled at that, and Aerith couldn't help but smile. "My name," she said to the creature then, "is Aerith."

"So you are Aerith," the other said in a tone that indicated he had heard much about her, "You can call me Red." 

Tifa moved then, stepping into the room, and Aerith followed. Red, rising nimbly on his hind legs, manouevered the door closed and secured the lock. The room was empty but for the three of them; Tifa took a seat on the corner of on one of the two beds, and Aerith moved to the window to watch apprehensively the processional below.

"Where are the others?" Tifa asked Red, who had curled up in the corner by the door. 

There came the sound of the door being unlocked.

"Right here," said the voice Aerith had been longing to hear. She whirled around, heart suddenly racing, to find Cloud standing square in the doorway. Immediately his gaze found her, and after a muttered exclamation he was striding forward to embrace her. She closed her eyes as his arms wrapped around her, feeling the days of fear and worry being chased away by his very presence. He drew back, blue eyes earnest and searching. 

"Are you alright?" He asked softly.

She nodded, throat closing with sudden tears of relief. He saw her distress, and embraced her again. When he stepped away this time, there was someone to take his place. 

"Aerith! Where the hell have ya been?"

A second later she was engulfed in a hug of mass proportions; she could feel the oxygen being squeezed from her body. As she made a small sound of protest Barret released her, grinning widely. "We missed ya, ya know?" 

She returned his happy smile, "I missed you all too."

"Aerith," This from Cloud as he stepped in front of Barret. His voice was now serious and concerned. "What happened to you?" 

She took a deep breath, not wanting to tell them of everything that had transpired, wanting to forget it all and content herself with what was here and now. She began to speak, slowly at first, and told them all that had happened since she had been abducted by the Turks while taking the small girl Marlene to her stepmother. The others listened intently, their expressions ranging from horrified disbelief to grim worry. When she had finished detailing her arrival in Junon, the tension in the air was tangible; thick enough to choke on.

"Then he's here," he said slowly. "Sephiroth is here in Junon." 

Aerith could do no more than nod her head in affirmation. She had not told them everything; how could she? How could she try and explain Sephiroth's bizarre behaviour towards her when she was baffled by it herself? She shared her friends' apprehension; she wanted nothing more than to flee this city with them at her side, and leave it far, far behind.

"We need to leave, Cloud." Tifa said, her dark eyes full of trepidation. "Now." 

Cloud released a deep breath, and nodded. "We will. We'll leave on the Shinra boat that is departing tonight."

"And just how we gonna do that? " Barret demanded incredulously. 

Cloud grinned then, mischeviously. "Have you ever wanted to be a sailor?"

"What the hell you talkin' about?" 

"You'll find out later. We all need to get ready; go get your stuff and meet back here."

Grumbling, Barret complied, and the others filed out of the room after him. Cloud regarded Aerith then, taking in her ragged appearance; the blood staining her dress and its considerably shorter hemline. He said quietly, "Are you in pain?" 

Aerith shrugged, seeing no reason to lie to him, "Some. But I'll live."

His eyes filled with something then, and Aerith felt her own color rise at the irrational, giddy happiness she felt to be with him again. He smiled, a genuine warm smile. "I'm glad you're okay. We tried to look for you in the lab, but there was no trace. It was as if you'd vanished off the Planet ... and if I'd known you were there in Kalm when we were there ..." He trailed off, and his expression became dark. "I would have killed him for hurting you." 

"Cloud," she said, not wanting to dwell on that person, not now, "I'm here, and I'm okay."

His smile returned, and his entire composure lightened. "I know. Now, we have to go about finding uniforms ..." 

"Uniforms? What for?"

He had already turned, and was leaving the room. His reply, tossed over his shoulder, told her nothing. "You'll see." 

-----

Military organizations, Aerith decided, were to be avoided solely for the fact that the uniforms included were so very, very uncomfortable. 

Red proved to be just as, if not more, amusing than Barret. The catlike creature hissed vehemently at the clothing with which Cloud presented him with. After some gentle persuasion by Aerith he deigned to let himself be clothed in the manner of humans. Once they were all fully in uniform, Cloud led them to the ship at the main dock, which they boarded without incident. Once on board Cloud instructed them to split up and look as if they belonged there, and so they dispersed. 

Aerith walked up the stairs to the deck, concentrating on not laughing as she watched Red ahead of her, tottering on his hind legs in a wobbly, yet passable, version of the human gait. As soon as she reached the deck she hurried to the railing, excited and enchanted by the fact that she was in fact, sailing on the ocean that before this day she had never seen. The mist from the water rose up around her and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of it. The gentle rocking motion of the boat did not affect her at all, and she briefly wondered what it was like to experience sea sickness as she had heard others did.

Sometime later, Cloud in uniform approached her casually. He asked in an undertone, "Where's Tifa?" 

Just as casually, Aerith replied, "I think she's below deck."

"Could you look for her, please? Just to make sure she's okay?" 

"Of course," she replied, and was rewarded by the comforting pressure of his hand against her back. She waited until he had left before turning with some reluctance from her post and heading back below deck. Her footsteps echoed eerily on the metal steps as she found herself out of the bright sun and within the darkened confines of the ship. Standing at the door to the cargo bay where to guards clad much like herself; she nodded at them and proceeded to pass. There were a few others down here, unloading freight or just standing around, but none of them seemed to be Tifa. She walked further, all the way to the back of the hold, but there was no one there. She frowned; Tifa must be above afterall.

She turned and went back the way she came. As she neared the cargo hold and the two guards, she halted abruply, feeling a cold, electric chill chase down her spine. Slowly, fearfully, she pivoted on the spot to face the rear of the hold. 

He stood there, partially hidden in shifting shadow. She knew it was him by the telltale flashes of light along the strands of his snowy hair, and the ethereal sheen off his eyes. He made no move to hide himself, but stood tall and proud before her, before the other soldiers. She dared not breathe, lest he see through her uniform, through her disguise -

His lips curved ever so slowly in a chilling smile, one of anger and warning. As he began striding forwards, she was running, fleeing headlong up the stairs. She had been foolish to think he would not know her ... shouts of alarm rang out behind her, but she did not stop to look. She raced upwards, and when daylight encompassed her she was darting forwards, looking frantically for the others, for Cloud. So panicked was she that when someone gripped her arm and spun her around she let out a startled scream. 

"Aerith!" It was Cloud, she knew it was, even though all that was visible was his sapphire eyes. "What is it?"

Sobbing breathlessly in relief and despair, she clung to him, not caring who saw them now. She needed him, needed his strength. 

God help her, she couldn't face him again, not alone ...

"Aerith?" 

"He's here, " she said then. "Sephiroth. He's here."


	13. Thirteen

----- 

_So go on and scream, scream at me - I'm so far away. I won't be broken again._

_Going Under - Evanescence_

-----

He watched as the girl fled from him; watched as she scrambled up the stairs. She had incited in him a fury he had not felt in ages, and he was going to indulge it. The guards, alert to his presence, were shouting their alarm, and he moved in an intricate dance of death through them. When they had fallen silent, he climbed the stairs slowly, purposefully, to stand once again in the full light of day. 

There she was, and at the sight of her his hand clenched around the grip of the masamune. She was with Strife, being held in his arms, and the rush of possessive fury that raced through him was strong enough that he momentarily lost his breath. He took one step forwards; when he was through with Strife she would fully and completely understand what he was ... at that moment Strife whirled to face the ranks of Shinra officers who had discovered the strangers in their midst. He watched as the girl hesitantly backed away, and a thought crossed his mind. One of her friends, the other woman, was down in the hold. Perhaps he would start with her ...

Smiling, he descended again. 

-----

"Sephiroth." Cloud repeated grimly, pulling away and scanning the area. "Where?" 

"Down there," Aerith said wildly. Cloud's entire countenance became solemn; determined, as he unstrapped from his back his sword. She tightened her grasp on his arm suddenly, frightened not only for herself but for her friends as well. He glanced at her, and his expression softened at her open panic. He said then, gently, "I won't let him hurt you again, Aerith."

"Cloud," She said, not releasing him. They could all leave; they could abandon ship and leave Sephiroth here ... 

_What makes you think_, asked a small part of her mind not clouded by apprehension and concern, _that he will not follow?_

"It will be okay, Aerith. I promise." Cloud's hand closed over her own, prying her fingers from his arm. She could see his own nervousness, his own fear, trickling into the blue depths of his eyes, though he was trying valiantly not to show it. Cloud was no fool; he knew exactly what he was up against in Sephiroth. Still he would stride forth to meet the once General of Shinra, would willingly engage him in hopeless combat. 

He would do it for her.

She was shaking her head now, frantically. She could not let him do this, for she knew better than he exactly what Sephiroth was capable of. She had seen it; had taken care to remember it all. She clutched his arm again and opened her mouth to speak, just as a cry went up behind them, towards the helm. They both turned as one, to find Shinra officers racing towards them, weapons drawn. They had been discovered. Cloud faced them with a growl; joining him a minute later was Red, his uniform discarded, hackles raised. Barret appeared a moment later. Together they faced the oncoming horde with grim assurance. 

As the battle was joined, Aerith made her decision. Her panic faded away; numbness rushed in. Seeing her friends like this, so full of life, so determined ... there was no other choice for her to make. She backed away from the fray, one slow step at a time, before turning and walking to the stairs. She stood there a moment, gazing into the shadowed depths of the level below. She could see nothing; heard nothing. Her eyes went back to her friends, to Cloud. He was in profile, moving with skilled practice through the ranks of the enemy. She took a deep, calming breath, and descended the stairs.

There was blood at the bottom, as she had expected. Pieces of what had once been the guardsmen littered the floor, and Aerith swallowed thickly as she stepped off the stairs and into a large, unavoidable crimson pool. She paused for only a moment, looking around but studiously avoiding the carnage. As far as she could see, there was no one here. Carefully, slowly, she waded through the blood until she stood again on dry ground. She made her way hesitantly, heart pounding so loudly that she was sure it could be heard above deck. Sounds of combat filtered down, letting her know that her friends were still occupied. She turned then, looking back the way she came. Her own bloody footsteps were all that she could see. Struggling to keep her breathing even and calm she turned to face the rear of the ship. 

"Aerith," A quiet whimper.

She closed her eyes then, in resignation so very bitter. Before her stood Sephiroth, and before him, kneeling with his blade at her throat, was Tifa. When she opened them again, he was watching her, smiling. 

"Let her go." She said quietly.

"Why?" He asked, baiting her. 

"Please." She whispered. He sneered, raising the gloved fist not holding his blade. He held a handful of Tifa's hair, and at his movement her head wrenched back sharply. She made a small sound, and he chuckled.

"I would rather," he said in that tone she knew so well, "kill her. And everyone of her friends. And then I could deal with Strife ..." 

She couldn't help the way she reacted to Cloud's name, or his threat. He saw this, and his sneer became ugly. "I could kill him while you watch ..." He pulled again on Tifa's hair, stretching her neck taut against the blade. Aerith could see the furious pounding of her pulse from where she stood. She knew very well that he was infuriated, and that this fury was different from any of the other anger he had ever displayed around her. He would kill, and he would enjoy making her suffer through it. How was she to stop him?

"Please ... Sephiroth, please." She said again, her voice emitting a calmness she herself did not feel. "Please, let her go." 

"I ask you again ... why?"

Whatever softness; whatever human attributes she had ever seen in the luminosity of his eyes was gone, replaced with a hard, unfeeling shell. This was Sephiroth, Son of Jenova, utterly ruthless and totally in control. This was the aspect of him she had never wanted to encounter, knowing all the while it was inevitable. He would take everything she had without a second thought ... 

"Take me," she said, "and leave her behind. Leave them all behind."

He made a derisive noise, and the masamune trembled minutely from where it graced Tifa's neck. "You will come with me; there is no doubt of that." He fell silent, his hand idly tugging at the mass of Tifa's hair. Tears of pain and fear were streaming down Tifa's face, and yet as she gazed at Aerith she made no outward sound. It was as if he were considering her words, considering whether or not to let this insignificant slip of a girl live ... He released her hair suddenly, and with one booted foot propelled her forwards so that she fell face down to the cold floor. He sliced the air above her, soundlessly and with great ease, with his massive blade; his eyes were on Aerith, watching her reaction. Tifa scrabbled away from him, towards her friend who knelt and gathered her in her arms. 

"Aerith," Tifa gasped, gripping her arms tightly, "You can't. You can't go with him!"

"I will be alright, Tifa." Aerith replied in a voice completely devoid of emotion. Her arms, enfolding Tifa, were shaking violently, and for one split second Tifa could see her stark abject terror and the harsh acceptance in the cracked depths of her eyes. But then they were gone, and Aerith was gently but firmly pushing her away. Tifa grasped the leg of Aerith's uniform. "No, Aerith!" 

Aerith was focused solely on Sephiroth. He had watched their exchange without expression, wordlessly, and when Aerith had rose to her feet the small smile that crossed his face was triumphant and malevolent. He extended one long arm, and held out his hand palm up. "Come."

Tifa did not miss the solitary tear that traced its way, glittering, down Aerith's pale face, and neither did Sephiroth. With slow, faltering steps Aerith made her way forwards, stopping inches away. She did not look at him. He made a sound; his hand shot forwards and grasped her by the collar. Hauling her forwards he pressed his lips to her in a brutal, arrogant kiss; it was a cruel and cold gesture. When he broke away he met her eyes, finding himself mirrored in their reflective surface. He laughed then, maliciously, and spoke then to the girl on the floor. 

"Tell Strife," he said with a malevolent smirk, "that I will take good care of her."

"Aerith ..." Tifa breathed in dismay. 

Sephiroth sheathed his masamune and gathered Aerith in his arms all in one movement. There was a sound of metal being rent; high pitched and screeching, and the wall behind Sephiroth peeled away from the frame of the hull. The light of day washed in to bathe them all. Sephiroth gave Tifa a mocking bow, turned, and walked to the opening.

Aerith's gaze, over his shoulder, met Tifa's. In it was a wordless apology, and a plea for acceptance. 

And then they were gone.


	14. Fourteen

----- 

_ I'd show a smile, but I'm too weak. I'd share with you, could I only speak just how much this hurts me._

_This Time Imperfect - AFI_

-----

The journey after leaving the ship was nothing more than a blur to Aerith. Her trembling body held tight in Sephiroth's almost cruel grip, she buried her face in his shoulder as they began to rise swiftly into the air. His fury was palpable, something she could almost taste, radiating from him in intense waves. It was clear now that whatever slight mercies he had ever shown her were part of a person dead and gone. The sheer power and cold rage that were so very apparent to her now were terrifying. They were hurtling through the air at a speed which made the wind scream in her ears. She raised her head once, to look back at the ship; it was nothing more that a dark mark now in the vast ocean of blue. 

_What have I done?_ a part of her screamed as she again closed her eyes against the harsh reality of the choice she had made. She had saved her friends, she knew, but the implications of what she had doomed herself to in return made her numb with fear. If ever it had been in doubt, it was now revealed with brutal clarity: with Sephiroth lay her death. For how long Sephiroth carried them through the air was unknown to her. When they began to slow and descend dread rushed through her. What would happen now?

He landed lightly, one foot touching the ground directly after the other. His hold on her loosened, and as he set her down she stumbled rapidly away. She looked around, a little wildly, to find that they were on a beach; the ocean bordered them, the coastline extending both ways as far as she could see. Her gaze returned to Sephiroth with some trepidation, but his attention was elsewhere. His head was cocked to the side as if listening closely to something only he could hear. Moments passed as he remained thus. Aerith cast another furtive glance around; if she ran, he would inevitably catch her, and she had no wish to incite his wrath further. The sun was setting; a brilliant fire which lit up the horizon and reflected brightly off the calm waters. Aerith, watching the light fade and give way to night, felt great despair overwhelm her. There was no hope; whatever happiness she had known upon finding her friends was gone; buried beneath the onslaught of fear and hopelessness. 

As the sky darkened to a vibrant orange, Sephiroth raised his head. Aerith's eyes moved quickly to him. He said tonelessly, without looking at her, "There has been a change in plans."

"What do you mean?" She asked, her voice soft in fear. 

"I mean, " he said, pivoting on the spot to survey the surroundings, "that there is something else I must do for Mother."

A small amount of relief flooded Aerith. Perhaps Jenova had no use for her now ... 

"Oh, do not decieve yourself." He said then with a brittle smile, watching her emotions flicker across her expressive face. "Mother still wishes to see you. Before that, however, there are some stops we will be making."

She opened her mouth to ask him where they would be stopping, but he raised a hand to stop her. "To the east several miles lays Costa Del Sol. It is a port city. The freighter we were just on board, the one your friends inhabit," here he paused, his lip curling, " It will be docking there. Our destination however, lies to the north. The Golden Saucer has something I need." 

The Golden Saucer. Aerith had heard tell of it; choice vacation spot, with all manner of entertainment. There would be people there, many people, and perhaps there she would have another chance to -

"It will not happen." Sephiroth stated, reading her face. "Not again. I promise you this." 

Aerith swallowed at the cold finality and underlying threat in his tone. He continued, "Whatever hope you hold for escaping, extinguish it. I shall not be delayed any further, and I will not hesitate to kill this time. Indeed," his smile was cruel, "I will even enjoy it. I am the only person you need concern yourself with from this point on."

She did not reply. He gestured opposite the ocean, to where the moon hung large and luminous above the rambling treeline which started not far from where they stood. "In those trees we will stay the night. Walk." 

She obeyed his order numbly, turning and walking towards the forest, aware of him following not far behind. Instead of swirling in tulmutous commotion, her thoughts were eerily silent. She couldn't bear to think of Cloud, to think of her friends, to think of anything right now. What was the point? Nothing held importance, nothing but her captive existance and inevitable death, death that drew closer with each step she made. He had said she would not escape again, and she believed it. He would not falter in his guard now; he would be ever vigilant. There was nothing left for her now -

A random thought, straying out of the darkest reaches of her mind, almost brought her to a halt. She resumed walking normally, not wanting him to know what she was thinking as he so often did. It was ludicrous, it was extreme; what else did she have. Aerith knew beyond all certainty that whatever Jenova wanted her for, whatever Jenova needed, she would not survive. What then would befall Mother and Son's plans if the last remaining Cetra were to die prematurely? 

Even as she denied it, even as she attempted to lock it away, the realization of what she had to do, what she must do had taken root deep within her. Tears slipped quickly from her eyes, and she bowed her head so that they fell to the ground before they could be noticed. There was no other way. In living she would only aid Jenova somehow, fulfil some dire use that she was needed for. Better then to take her own life, better then to end it her way.

The were almost to the trees. She raised her head then, to stare at the moon were it reigned the night sky. The stars, abundant and bright, reminded her of a night not long ago, when she was still in Midgar. It was that night she had encountered Cloud, and it was that night her life had been irrevocably altered. Their beauty was heart rending, tragic, and somewhere deep inside her something cracked and shattered. 

Her decision was made. She would not live to see Jenova.


	15. Fifteen

----- 

_ You used to captivate me by your resonating light, but now I'm bound by the life you left behind. Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams. Your voice, it chased away all the sanity in me ..._

_My Immortal - Evanescence_

-----

Three days had passed since Sephiroth and the girl had left the ship and arrived on the western continent. They covered considerable distance, maintaining the steady and unrelenting pace he had set. They had left behind the forests and had the plains, which were now lengthening into foothills with the faint promise of the mountains in the distance. As they travelled, he observed that the girl had changed somehow; her countenance had hardened as if she had come to some grim resignation. Had she accepted her inevitable fate? He did not think so. And so he kept an ever watchful eye on her. 

On the eve of the third day they were not far from the mountains, which in the fading light of the sun were covered in dark blue shadow. He called a halt to their march, and though they had left the forests far behind he led them to a small copse of trees. As he used his materia to bring into life a small fire, the girl passed him silently, wraith-like, to settle at the base of a tree. When he tossed her an evening ration, she caught it and consumed it methodically before turning her gaze to the fire. He settled himself against a tree trunk on the other side of the fire and watched her. He was no longer able to read her face to know what she was thinking, feeling. And her eyes, those remarkably expressive eyes were closed and shuttered. Her change in behaviour was beginning to irritate him.

"Tomorrow I will go to the Golden Saucer and retrieve what I need." He said. She looked at him then, and he could see the question pass in her eyes. She said nothing, however, but nodded her understanding once, slowly. 

"You," he continued, his ire surging at her lack of reaction, "will remain here. Bound. Even were you to escape we both know what the result would be. It will not take me long to get what I need."

She again nodded, and moved her eyes to the fire. He stared at her for a moment before turning his attention to the dancing white flames as well. Later, when her stony expression had softened with sleep, and her breathing was soft and regular, he allowed himself to study her in an attempt to discern what exactly it was about her that he found so fascinating. There was no reason forthcoming. His rage at her previous escape, fueled by finding her with Strife, had not diminished. The fact that he, Sephiroth, the one chosen to lead the Planet to the new era, was plagued by this infatuation, this attraction, was infuriating. Being cruel to her brought a small measure of satisfaction as it was retaliation against her for the way she made him feel. Along with the satisfaction, however, came the remorse, which he constantly fought. There was no explanation for this affliction, and as much as he hated it, it intrigued him all the same. As he studied her, in the pale light of the materia fire, memories rose, unbidden, of her lips so enticing under his, of her soft skin against his. With forcible effort he subdued them, and cast them back into the corner of his memory from whence they came. Frustrated, he rose and stalked off into the night. 

As dawn broke he returned, carrying with him a length of rope he had appropriated during his midnight sojourn from a nearby homestead. He strode to the girl where she lay, and as his shadow fell over her she awoke with a start. Seeing it was him, her eyes narrowed and her face hardened. He smiled with no small amount of cruelty and crouched before her.

"Hold out your arms." He ordered. Slowly, she did as he asked. He looped the long rope around her wrists several times and secured a knot. He then gestured for her to stand. Once she was on her feet he secure the rope around her neck, tying an intricate knot. The rest of the rope he wrapped around the trunk of the tree she had been leaning against and tied it off tightly. Finished, he turned back to her. 

"If you attempt to remove the rope from your wrists, the rope will tighten around your neck. The more you struggle, the tighter it becomes. I will not be long. Don't," he said with a malicious smirk, "go anywhere."

Satisfied, he gave her a mocking bow before turning and running with his inhuman speed out of the trees and towards the mountains, where Corel and the entrance to the Golden Saucer lay. 

-----

Aerith stared after Sephiroth long after he had vanished from sight. The rope was uncomfortable and chafed both her neck and wrists. Experimentally, she worked at the bindings on her arms. To true his words, the rope around her neck began to tighten. She let her arms fall limp and turned her eyes again to the direction he had gone, contemplating. 

Her decision was not a hard one to make. Here and now she could end her journey through this life, and go on to meet her ancestors and bequeath her body to the Planet. It had been a long time since she had bothered to commune with the Planet, and she would not do so now. She was afraid of what it would say about her choice. Resolutely, she set her jaw. This would all end now.

She began to work at the ropes rather violently, rotating her wrists in an effort to loosed the knot. Around her neck the rope tightened as violently, and she shook her head as a gasp escaped her. It was instinct to want to breathe, but she forced instinct down and away as she continued what she was doing. She knew of course that eventually she would pass out, and when that happened her struggles would cease and the noose around her neck would loosen. Therefore she had to devise a method that would keep the rope tightened. She stopped what she was doing and looked up. The thick branches of the tree she was tethered to immediately caught her eye. Without hesitation she moved to the trunk and sought handholds and footholds the best she could. She did not need to climb far; only a couple feet so she could toss her tether up and over one of the branches. It took her several minutes and a few attempts before she was perched, unsteadily, between a split in the trunk. 

As she stared at the branch she would use to take her own life, tears she could not control fell from her eyes. She fought them, fought the memories and the thoughts that struggled to surface to remind her why she loved life. Taking a deep breath, she swung her wrists in a wide arc. The rope, following the arc, soared up and caught firmly on the branch where it connected to the tree. The line was taut now; were she to step off of her perch she would hang in the air ...

She closed her eyes. 

_I have no other choice_, she said silently to herself, to the Planet.

She stepped off the trunk. Her wrists were drawn upright, over her head, and a strangled gasp escaped her as the noose closed with force. She was on tiptoe, the ground touching, barely, her feet, but it wasn't enough. There was no way to undo what she had just done. 

It was excruciating. Tears of agony as well of sorrow were falling now, dampening the earth around her. Her lungs were laboring painfully to bring in air, and her heart's painful thundering was slowing. Her vision was clouding over, and she closed her eyes. Her body began to convulse from lack of oxygen, a desperate plea for life.

_I had no other choice. _


	16. Sixteen

----- 

_ You do something to me that I can't explain. So I would I be out of line if I said I miss you?_

_I Miss You - Incubus_

-----

Something was wrong. 

The realization came to him, straying out of the boundaries of his instinct. So sudden and forcible was the feeling that he halted in his tracks. Wind, stirred by his impossibly swift movements, swirled past him, whipping tendrils of his pale hair with it. It was inexplicable, but he felt almost ... apprehensive. He turned on the spot to gaze back at the copse of trees, now nothing but a dark spot on the horizon, where he had left the girl. He knew with firm certainty that she could not escape, so what was it that bothered him so about leaving her there? There was a chance, minuscule at best, that something or someone would happen upon her; bound as he had left her she was quite effectively helpless. A scowl creased his features as he contemplated the nature of his doubt and concern. The girl's effect over him, damn her, was more extensive than he had thought.

"So be it." He muttered darkly. He would return for her and take her with him into the Golden Saucer. It would slow them of course, but he would not have to backtrack in order to retrieve her once the Keystone was within his possession. To ensure her behaviour in the bawdy crowds that frequented the Saucer he would keep her tied in a discreet manner, and keep her close to him. With an impatient sigh he set out the way he had came, running again. He could not shake the sense of urgency that rode him and pushed him faster. The small cluster of trees grew larger and larger until he could make them out with definition. As he swept into the clearing where he and the girl had made camp the previous night he abruptly halted at the sight that greeted him. Eyes widened in disbelief, he stared uncomprehendingly at the girl who with arms outstretched above her hung mere millimetres from the ground. It took him only seconds to realize what had happened, and with that realization came a rush of something icy, something that gripped him from the inside out. 

_Fear._

Soft, grating rasping sounds filled the air. The girl's face was deathly white, her lips tinged blue. Her eyes were clenched shut, and lines of pain were cut in harsh relief into the paleness of her face. The masamune was suddenly within his grasp, and in a maddening rush he moved forward; the shining blade swept up then down in a swift arc, severing the branch from the tree. The girl dropped heavily to the ground and did not move. Dropping his sword he was by her side in an instant, lifting her and turning her so that she lay on her back. He worked the noose knot with his fingers in an effort to loosen it; when it fell away he pulled it free of her. The girl gave an audible, painful gasp as her airway reopened; at the sound Sephiroth felt weak with relief. His arms went around her and pulled her into his lap; cradling, protective. Her eyes remained closed, but she was breathing in quick rasps. As he stared unseeing at her pallid, pain creased features he attempted to comprehend that mass of chaotic emotions now encompassing him. The foremost of these was disbelief, disbelief that she had attempted to take her own life. It was suddenly clear to him now, the reason for her change in behaviour. She had planned this; planned her own death and had accepted it as best she could. Rather than continue to hope, rather than attempt escape again on the small chance that she may actually succeed, she had chosen death. It was ludicrous, it was ridiculous. 

It was brave.

He began to understand then, part of why Mother was concerned with this girl. She possessed raw courage; a bravery like nothing he had known of. He hadn't seen it before, hadn't let himself see it, but in light of what she had just done he could not ignore it any longer. Had she died, she would have both been free of the agonizing torture that would await her with Mother as well as significantly damaged the procedures Mother and Son had devised to liberate the Planet. 

But she hadn't died.

Her breathing had slowed somewhat, and some of the lines of pain had faded from her face. She was regaining color but was still unconscious. Sephiroth raised a hand to her brow and was astonished to find it was trembling. 

_What was happening to him?_

It was instantaneous; he couldn't fight it anymore, and the emotions he had walled up and constantly held down broke free and washed over him. It was overwhelming, and like a drowning man he gasped for air. _What was this?_ What was this that caused him to want to scream, to cry? What were these thoughts, so haunting and agonized, that echoed throughout his mind with deafening power? He couldn't understand, didn't want to understand, but every second it was revealed further in brutal, heart wrenching agony. He was a man, and as powerful and omnipotent as he had become he could not escape that fact. He was born a man, a mortal, albeit altered somehow. And though he had tried so very hard, he could no longer ignore the truth. 

_I am human._

Not human in the physical sense. His body had evolved and surpassed the parameters set by mortal flesh. In terms of sheer power he was beyond them. But the feelings which coursed through him now; they were the proof. Proof that in the most spiritual sense of the word, he was human. 

The raging tide of emotions receded at the realization, leaving him breathless and dazed. Something cold and wet traced its way down his cheek and fell, glittering, to land on his arm. He shook his head, denying, but he knew it for what it was. A tear. Suddenly there were more, raining down as deep inside him something shattered. Sorrow, he realized as he fought the tightness in his throat and the heaviness in his chest. This was sorrow, and it was something that he could never recall experiencing. Fighting back the tears he stared hard at the girl, knowing that it was she that had wrought this catastrophic change within him; it was this girl that had brought him to his knees. The attraction he had felt had grown despite all his efforts to banish it, to exorcise it. It grown far beyond mere attraction, to the point where the thought of her death had him panicked and trembling.

He raised one hand, the other still clutching the girl, and tugged his leather glove off with his teeth. Tossing it aside he let his fingers wander the line of her cheek, and trace the feathery softness of her lashes. His fingers, seemingly of their own accord, combed themselves through her hair, enjoying the texture. Time halted as his eyes and hand explored every facet of her face, memorizing, analysing. And when he'd done it all, he lifted her and held her tighter, holding her as a lifeline in this new and terrifying reality he found himself in. 

"Aerith," he breathed.


	17. Seventeen

----- 

_So long. We wish you well. You told us how you weren't afraid to die. Well then, so long. Don't cry or feel too down. Not all martyrs see divinity, but at least you tried._

_Eulogy - Tool_

-----

She didn't want to awaken. She didn't want to leave this place so devoid of pain, of sorrow. She was safe here, she knew; beyond this void lay the reality she wanted to forget. And so she ignored all her senses telling her of touch, of sound, and let the dark waters of her subconscious wash over her. It would be so simple to remain here, forever adrift in the nothingness, away from all feeling, able only to exist. For how long she remained thus was impossible to tell. Something begin to tug at her, incessant, repetitive, trying to pull her from her wherever she lay deep within the recesses of her mind. She couldn't ignore this; it had knew where she was hiding. Eventually it grew louder, more defined, and she knew it for what it was. 

The Planet.

There were no words, no single sound. It was a merger of voices, a harmonious chiming cadence which roused her from her almost catatonic state. She didn't want to hear it, didn't want to know what it had to say. She was so very weary of it all. If she listened to what it told her, if she did as it bid, she would enter that place she had begun to hate; the place of pain, and suffering, and hopelessness. Better then to succumb to the peace, to the emptiness. The Planet refused to let her, pushing harder, growing louder. Against her will, she felt awareness flood through her, felt the ground beneath her and the chill air around her. A crackling sound; the dance of a fire. She cried out, silently, and fought to stay where she was safe ... 

With an abrupt surge, the Planet rose within her, scolding her, bringing her to consciousness. She gasped at the feeling, and her eyes fluttered open.

Dark. It was dark but for the shifting pale orange light cast by the fire she knew was there. Where was she? She dare not move, and closed her eyes again as she searched her memory for what had happened last, what had sent her fleeing inside herself. She found the memories then, and inwardly balked at the emotions they evoked. Foremost was regret, regret that she hadn't succeeded at taking her own life, regret that she was still here in this world. Her body reacted to the emotions; she felt then the abrasive soreness around her neck where the noose had wrought life from her. She inhaled, and winced slightly. Her lungs, from the exertion of trying to get air when there was none, hurt with the breath. A whimper of utter misery rose and caught in her throat as the onslaught of realization and pain thundered through her. 

She wished she were dead.

"You are awake?" 

At the sound of that voice, _his_ voice, she opened her eyes again. Of course he would be here, of course he would prevent her suicide. He invoked within her so very many things; hatred and confusion and stark abject terror. The resignation she had known before was nothing compared to what settled within her very soul now.

It took her several tries to respond; her throat was sore and closed. When she finally managed to speak, she could do so in no more than a cracked whisper. "Yes." 

Movement then; turning her head she could see him on the opposite side of the fire, knees drawn to his chest with his back against the tree. They had not, she suddenly realized, left the group of trees they had previously made camp in. Her eyes wandered the surroundings before returning to him. His head was cocked to the side; his eyes, so reflective in the firelight, were intense in their regard. After a moment, he asked, "Why?"

His question was unexpected. He wondered why she had made the choice she had, why she had tried to take her own life. It took her several moments to formulate a response. "It was the only thing left for me to do." She said haltingly, struggling to use her voice. He did not reply, and unable to bear the scrutiny of his gaze she turned her own skyward. There were no stars this night. The moon, almost full and hidden behind clouds, gave no illumination. She missed the stars, wanted to see them for some inexplicable reason. The bitter longing brought swift tears to her eyes and she blinked them furiously back. _Things would be so much easier_, she thought then, _if only I did not feel_. 

"You are crying."

She could not help the harsh laugh that escaped her at his remark. It left her breathless and coughing, and she struggled into a sitting position in order to breathe more easily. She was crying now, tears of pain mingling with tears of anguish. How she hated him! But she could not uphold her fury, and it faded quickly, falling back into the gaping void that was her soul. "Yes." she said thickly, raising a hand to wipe the wetness from her face. 

"You have much to cry for."

She looked at him then, sharply. Missing were the sarcastic and icy undertones in his voice. His words were plain, without malice. He caught her eyes; held them with his own. His next sentence astonished her. 

"I am sorry."

Silence for a long span. Trying to comprehend what he'd just said, and if he were serious, she shook her head. He continued, his voice quiet. "I am sorry for what I've done; some of it. I am sorry for the pain I've caused you." 

"You -" She said, her breath catching. "What is this?"

"An apology," he said simply. 

She started to laugh in cold disbelief, but it caught in her throat. She began to choke, spasming coughs racking her frame as her battered airway struggled to function. He was beside her in a swift movement, skirting the fire to crouch by her side. He placed his hands on her back and shoulder, supporting her. When the coughing had passed, he withdrew his hands, but did not leave her side. Confusion was now the foremost of her emotional responses. What game was he playing now?

As if knowing her thoughts, he began to speak softly. "What I've said, I said in all seriousness. I am sorry for all I've done to you." 

As much as she didn't want to, she had to look at him then. The question which passed her lips was the same he had asked her earlier.

"Why?" 

And in his eyes she saw then bewilderment to match her own. "I don't know."

Silence fell. She studied him, searching for a sign that this was a cruel jest, that he was in fact toying with her as he has so often thoughtlessly done. It struck her suddenly as her eyes perused his form; something was irrefutably and inexplicably different about him. His face illuminated by the flickering flames, seemed softer somehow, less arrogant. Even his eyes, always glowing, were devoid of their iciness, their cold hostility. She was frightened by this change and she didn't know why; with a sudden movement she was on her feet and away from him. He didn't follow, but watched her from where he crouched. 

"I cannot explain it to you; you would not understand. Things have changed, I have changed, and you must realize that."

"And what," she asked him in blatant disbelief, "does this change mean? Will you let me go? Let me go back to my friends, my home?" 

He shook his head. "No."

"Why not? If you're sorry as you say you are, let me go." 

"I cannot." He stood, casting his shadow in the firelight. "You must come with me still, to see Mother -"

"To go to my death!" She shouted hoarsely; enraged, terrified. "Nothing has changed!" 

"It has." He said calmly. "You won't be harmed. I'll see to it. Mother will understand that this is how it must be."

She shook her head. "You lie. I will be used and cast aside." 

"No," he replied, shaking his own head. He took a step closer, and she fell back. "I won't let that happen."

She stared at him wildly. She was more afraid of this Sephiroth than she was of the other. Her heart was pounding wildly, and her chest felt tight. What was this? What had happened so tremendous to have wrought such a transformation? As she struggled with her thoughts and emotions he took another step, and then another, until he stood directly before her. 

"Believe me when I say I'm sorry," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Aerith."

Her name. Astonishing, the sound of her name coming from him. She could not react, could not summon her wits enough to respond. Her eyes, regarding him wide and shining, were swirling with apprehension. He saw this, and when he reached out a hand to her face it was gentle and steady. She pulled away then, but he shook his head again, and moving so swiftly she hadn't time to react he enfolded her in his embrace. She went stiff, her body unyielding. He did not loosen his hold, however, and instead lay his cheek against the softness of her hair. 

"I hated it." He said. "I hated the way I was attracted to you. I hated the fact that I felt guilty for hurting you. I even hated you a little for doing this to me, for invading my thoughts and never leaving. But as much as I tried to banish what I felt, it would not leave."

She strained against his hold, against the nonsense he was saying. His grip was iron, however, and she could not free herself. 

"Let me have this. Let me have this moment." He whispered against her hair.

Aerith closed her eyes. She knew what he was talking about, knew it even better because she had felt it herself. She had ignored it, denied it because it terrified her. That terror was fully realized now. Her breath left her in resignation, and she allowed herself to relax in his arms, closing her eyes. Startled, not expecting this, he went rigid for a moment. Then he pulled her closer, held her tighter, and closed his own eyes to savor what he never thought he would experience, and what he was afraid he would never experience again. Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of stars as their light flickered through the evening clouds. They were faint, as if fighting for the right to shine this night, and at the sight she could hold on no further. The tenuous hold she had on her emotions snapped. Rasping sobs shook her form as she wept shamelessly, silently, into his shoulder. One of his hands crept up to lightly stroke her hair. She let him; it was comforting, and that was something she needed in this reality spiralling so out of control. She cried as though her heart were breaking; perhaps it was. There was an ache within her, an icy void that felt as though it were growing with every second, consuming her from the inside out. 

He held for her a long time, neither moving nor speaking. And when her tears had ceased and her trembling eased, she did not pull away. She let herself remain within his grasp, letting herself just this once to forget who he was, and why they were together. Standing like this here, in his arms; it was easy to feel protected, secure. Too easy, but she would not dwell on that. Not tonight. Eventually Sephiroth moved, gently trying to extricate himself, pulling away to save her whatever awkwardness she might feel. But she resisted, clasping his shoulders, and with a startled look she could not see he complied her urgent, unspoken request, gathering her closer.

She needed to be held. She needed his embrace. 

_At least_, she told herself, knowing she was lying, _for tonight._


	18. Eighteen

----- 

_ ...To draw out the timid wild one, to convince you it's all right. And I listen for the whisper of your sweet insanity while I formulate denials of your affect on me ..._

_A Stranger - A Perfect Circle_

-----

Sometime in the night Aerith pulled away from him. He could feel her withdraw in more ways than one, and though he wanted to reach out for her again he didn't. He watched, wordlessly, as she moved to the other side of the fire, face averted, eyes downcast. She sank down against a tree and closed her eyes, shutting the world out, shutting him out. With a noiseless sigh he turned his back to the fire and gazed upwards, to where the stars mapped out the constellations. There was so much within him now that he had never known before, and he felt as if any moment these alien emotions would overwhelm him as they had before. He didn't want this, didn't want to feel, but he couldn't deny it. Not any longer. Somewhere in the distance a howl arose on the night air; it's haunting undulating cadence was an echo to the disconsolate cry within his soul. At his side, one fist clenched and he bowed his head in frustration. All his life, he had relied on control, prided himself on the ability to think calmly, clearly, without emotional interference. Yet here he stood, crippled and lost, feeling as if he were drowning ... 

He snorted then, a small exhale, at the irony of his situation. Shaking his head, he turned back to the fire and sank, cross legged, to the ground. The next few hours he spent in contemplation, and more often than not he found his gaze straying to Aerith where she slumbered. As the first slivers of light crept across the horizon she awoke, her eyes fluttering slowly open to focus first on the remains of the fire, and then onto him. A faint tinge of color arose in her cheeks as she looked suddenly away; he knew she was recalling the events of the previous night. She straightened into a sitting position, attempting futilely to smooth her tangled, knotted hair into some semblance of order. He watched, vaguely amused, until she gave up and brought her gaze to his, almost expectantly. He said then, "We'll reach the Golden Saucer by noon."

"And then?" She asked. 

"We'll stay the night there. Our next destination will take more than a day, and I will arrange for some method of travel to get us there."

"Where is it?" She asked, and he could read the underlying anxiety in her tone. "What is our next destination?" 

He remained silent for a moment, studying her, gauging her reaction. Finally he said. "Come. We must go."

She rose to her feet abruptly, turning away, but not before he'd seen the mingled apprehension and irritation flicker across her face. He stood as well, kicking the ashes of the fire to scatter them. She stepped past him and began walking resolutely in the direction he had indicated. For a moment he lingered, wanting again to assure her that she wouldn't be harmed, that she would be all right. He forced the urge away and shook his head slightly before starting after him. He couldn't blame her for still being anxious around him; their new alliance, if it could indeed be called that, was too new, too tenuous. He would give her time, as much as he could afford, to come to terms with everything that had just happened. He couldn't help but wonder what her reaction would be to his claim of affection; would she accept him? He didn't want to think of it, and so he pushed the doubt firmly into the back of his mind. 

By the time the sun had risen to hang, blinding, directly overhead, they were within sight of North Corel. Sephiroth, who had been following Aerith until that point, moved up to walk beside her. She looked at him then, and then quickly looked away as he returned her glance. It was evident she was uncomfortable with him now, and most likely what had transpired the previous evening. He was feeling rather awkward about it himself, and thought he'd never felt awkward in his life before, he didn't care for it at all. They entered North Corel soon after. Aerith slowed her pace as they passed through the pitiful gathering, seeing in this place a resemblance to the gloomy slums she had called home. The townspeople appeared haggard and worn, and watched the unlikely couple pass through their midst with mild curousity and indifference. If any of them recognized Sephiroth from his past, they didn't show it, and so they left North Corel without incident. From there he led them on to the Ropeway station. The Ropeway car was a behemoth of metal and propellors which Aerith eyed dubiously while Sephiroth paid their way. They were the only passengers on this trip. Aerith took her seat on the bench and immediately fastened her gaze on the small window as the car lurched, and than began it's upward journey. As the ground fell away, Aerith caught her breath at the sight. Rising all around them were mountains, snow capped and towering in their majesty. The mountains were then replaced by a remarkable sight; the Golden Saucer, rivalling the mountains, it seemed, in sheer size. She stared in awe at the massive structure, at the myriad of lights that sparkled and beckoned, at the frenzied movement that even from this distance she could make out. Sephiroth, seated opposite her, watched as surprise and delight lit up her face. She smiled, something he had never seen her do, and turned to him.

"It's amazing." She said. "I've always heard stories of the Golden Saucer." 

He nodded. "My reaction was somewhat the same the first time I saw it."

Her attention had once again moved out the window, to the site before them. The ropeway car coasted into the entrance of the Saucer, engines softening to a dull hum. It shuddered slightly before halting, and the door slid open. With a gesture, Sephiroth indicated that she proceed him. As she stepped into the blazing lights of the ropeway bay, her eyes widened. Her senses were assailed with music and colors of the like she had never before seen. Her blatant curiousity was amusing to Sephiroth, and as he left her for a moment to purchase their entry tickets he allowed himself a slight smile. He handed her a ticket upon his return, which she inspected before tucking into her dress pocket. 

"It's so ... loud ..." She said, glancing round the bay, at the various people mingling there.

"It is that." He agreed. He pointed through a gigantic archway into a circular room beyond. "The hotel is that way." 

She didn't reply, still glancing around. It occurred to him then that she may be contemplating escape in the same manner as she had in Junon. He grasped her arm then, gently albeit firmly, to propel her forward. She didn't protest, still overwhelmed by the surroundings. They entered the map room, where the ports to all the various branches of the Saucer were arranged around the circular perimeter. He led her to the one which read "Ghost Hotel", and pointed to it. She cast one last glance around before jumping in without hesitation, and he followed close behind. Upon reaching the Ghost area, he again took her arm and led her up a set of winding stairs to the door of the actual hotel. The moment they stepped through the entry way, a horrific wail went up in the air as something dropped down to hang before them. Swallowing a scream, Aerith jumped backwards before realizing this was, in fact, a member of the staff. Schooling his face as not to show his amusement, Sephiroth proceeded to register them for one room. The creepy puppet, suspended from the ceiling, handed him a key before ascending again to his post above door. They climbed the stairs then, to reach a hallway decorated to resemble someone's nightmare. Aerith frowned in distaste at the garish, bloody theme. Their room was at the end of the hall, on the right. Sephiroth unlocked the door, and she stepped past him to enter. As he allowed the door to close, she realized she was alone with him again, isolated, and couldn't help the way her heart abruptly accelerated.

He said, as she turned to face him, "You'll need something more practical to travel in, from this point on. I'm going out to see what I can find. I'll have it sent up to the room for you. I'm sure you feel the need to bathe, do so now. I'll return in an hour." 

She said nothing, merely nodded, and watched as he opened the door again and closed it behind him. She didn't move until she heard the key turn from the other side, and his footsteps receding down the hall. She let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding, and felt her nerves relax. The effect he had on her was alarming in its intensity. She was bewildered at the change in his behaviour; while it seemed sincere, she couldn't help the way she feared him. The night before her, when he'd held her, she had been forced to acknowledge that she was attracted to him, and had been for sometime. How it had happened, or why, was beyond her, but it was terrifying all the same. With a heavy sigh, she turned and entered the bathroom at the end of the room. It was decorated in much the same manner as the rest of the hotel. With some eagerness she discarded her worn, tattered dress and stepped out of her over large boots. She untied the ribbon which held her unruly hair in check, and tried without much success to comb through it. It was tangled and knotted quite badly, as it hadn't been properly combed and washed for many days. Her materia, which had made it through her fall in the Mythril Caves secured in her braid, she placed gently on the pile of clothes on the floor. She hadn't used it in a while, didn't want to. Her desolation and anger were all that kept her going, or so she felt, and she knew that if she were to commune with the Planet, with life, that they would take those emotions from her. She no longer wanted an awareness with the life around her; she didn't know what she wanted. And until she was certain, she would take care to avoid communing with what had once been her method of receiving comfort and calm.

The shower was large, overly so. She stepped inside and turned the nozzles on full blast. Instantly she was hit by the warm, refreshing spray, and sighed again as it soothed her aching muscles. Her neck still pained her; a bruise in the shape of a rope had formed overnight; a grim reminder of what she had - almost - done. She tilted her head back to let the water beat against her throat, to soothe it, before turning and let the water soak her thick mass of hair. Using the shampoo supplied, she washed her hair thoroughly three times, combing through it with her fingers until it was again unknotted and somewhat smooth. She rinsed then, and finished with some reluctance, knowing that Sephiroth would soon return. As she stepped from the shower, dripping, she listened intently to discern whether or not there was anyone in the other room. Nothing but complete silence met her ears, and so she wrapped her hair in one towel and her body in another, and cracked the door open. 

The room was indeed empty. Lying on the lone bed in the corner was a bundle of what appeared to be clothing. Sephiroth was as good as his word. She quickly left the safety of the bathroom and darted across to the bed, sitting down and unfolding the fabric. There was a shirt, long sleeved, as well as some breeches, both tan in color. She shed the towel and swiftly clothed herself in these. The pants were too long, but she remedied this by rolling the cuff several times. She lifted then a long, mahogany colored bundle, which, upon being unrolled, revealed itself to be a long coat quite similar to Sephiroth's own. It was made of firm leather and was lined with soft fur for warmth. She slipped it on, one sleeve at a time, to find that it was almost a perfect fit. She did up a few of the clasps, and left the others open, and reached for the boots on the floor at the foot of the bed. They were smaller than her own, which had been several sizes larger than desired, and were also leather with a thick sole, made for travelling. She put them on, lacing them firmly, and took a few experimental steps. They too were almost a perfect fit.

She sighed. It was good to be clean again, clad in clean clothing. She unwound the towel from her hair, and set about binding it again in it's braid. She returned to the bathroom, bundling up her old clothing and placing it in the garbage, and slipped her materia into one of the many interior pockets lining her new coat. With nothing now to do but await her captor's arrival, she moved to the only window in the room, beside the head of the bed, and stared out onto the sight before her. Dusk had fallen; the mountain range bordering the Saucer was tinged a deep purple, hidden partially in haze. She could see from here the lights of the Saucer shining as though to mock the stars that had yet to appear. Minutes passed, and Aerith found a deep calm settling over her. She wondered then, where her friends were. Had they made it Costa Del Sol, as Sephiroth had predicted? Where they headed to the Saucer now? Or did their journey lead them elsewhere, somewhere far away from here? 

Did they miss her?

She bowed her head. She missed them fiercely, enough that it gave her a terrible ache in her chest. And Cloud ... she missed him a great deal. Her feelings had once been so clear where he had been concerned. But they were torn now, as much as she wished they weren't, and the reason for that was the very man who held her captive. Her attraction to him was undeniable, and unthinkable. It also scared her in a way she was unprepared for. She'd never known the touch of a man, never even kissed a man before now ... 

... And that man was Sephiroth.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the window pane. This confusion, this bewilderment; she wished she could shove it away, thrust it out of her mind. There was no remedy, she acknowledged with resignation, for this malady. She contented herself by thinking of Cloud, by remembering the way he looked, the way he spoke. He was decent, he was mortal, so why couldn't she fall only for him? The answer was not forthcoming, and in frustration she whispered, "Cloud." 

-----

He'd returned exactly one hour later. He'd made sure that the hotel attendants had sent the clothes he had purchased up to the room for her. He'd passed the time in the lobby, sitting unmoving in one of the chairs, trying to think of anything but the girl. After one hour had passed he stood, and climbed the stairs. He paused at the door to their room, listening, but no sound was to be heard. He silently entered the key into the lock and pushed the door open. 

She was standing in profile, her head pressed against the glass of the window, her eyes closed. She was clad in the clothes he had purchased, he was satisfied to see. Her hair, still wet, was again bound in the heavy, tight braid which fell to hang past her waist. He took one step forward and was about to say something when she whispered one word that stopped him in his tracks.

"Cloud." 

_Strife._ His hands tightened into fists at his side at the sound of that name, his name. Irrational, unfamiliar jealously surged within him, and he clenched his teeth at the strength of it. He'd known she'd had feelings for Strife, had known all along. Hearing his name on her lips, however, was infuriating. As though attuned to his anger, she whirled around to find him standing before the still open door. His eyes were blazing again with an expression much like the ones she had learned to fear, and she fell back a step. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when they opened again they were still fiery, but less so. He said then in a taut voice, "The clothes - they fit you?"

"Yes," she replied softly, hesitantly. "Thank you." 

"It was no problem." He raised one hand dismissively. She was still staring at him as though expecting him to launch an attack, and in an effort to put her at ease he said, "Are you hungry?"

"A little." She replied. 

"I will have food sent up to you, then. Is there anything else you require, for the night?"

"No. Nothing. Thank you." 

He nodded once. "Very well. Get some sleep. We leave early in the morning."

As he turned to leave again, her voice stopped him. "Where are you going?" 

"I shall wander this place until dawn. You forget, I do not need sleep."

"I didn't forget." She said. Something in her tone prompted him to turn to face her. The expression on her face was stricken, as though she'd just realized something she wished she hadn't. She asked then, "Why are you leaving?" 

He told her the truth. "To give you peace."

She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "To give me peace. There is no longer peace for me. I'm tormented when you're near .... and I'm tormented when you're away." 

He said nothing, but waited for her to continue.

"You said -" here her voice faltered, and she swallowed before going on, "You said you hated what I'd done to you, the way I affected you. Well, I hate it too. I think I hate it more. This attraction, this affection for someone like you ... it's not me. It's not right. I," she said with heated emphasis, "hated you. I want to hate you now. Maybe I do. I don't know. I don't know what I feel anymore. Whatever this - this thing is, " she brought her fist to her chest, and held it there, "I am afraid of it. I'm afraid of you." 

He exhaled slowly, a breath he'd been holding since she'd begun to speak. "I told you, you no longer have anything to fear from me."

"How can I believe that? How can I trust someone who's done what you've done?" 

He replied slowly, "You can't."

She nodded, a little wildly. "I can't. I know that. But I still feel what I feel." 

"That, " he said softly, "is not such a bad thing."

She stared at him, her eyes swimming with confusion and pain and fear. "But it is." 

Her answer bothered him, disappointed him. "I will let go then, and leave you to your rest." He turned again, and opened the door.

"Sephiroth." 

He halted at the sound. It was the first time he'd heard her say his name.

"Don't go." 

Exultation. Jubilation. He turned again, and walked the few steps to where she stood, wide eyed and shaking. He reached for her, but she stepped quickly out of reach.

"I - hold me. When I sleep. That's ... that's all I want." 

It was enough.

Later that night, as she lay tight in his embrace, he reflected on all she'd said, and all she hadn't. She'd come willingly to his arms, and wrapped her own around him, and the way it made him feel was astounding. It felt right to him. She murmurred something in her dreams, and shifted, and he pulled her even closer so that her warmth was all he could feel. She quieted then, fell back into peaceful slumber. 

_Yes_, he thought to himself, content for possibly the first time ever, _it was enough._


	19. Nineteen

-----

_You'll never find out now that all these absent elements build your comfortable defense. Stronger still, like an emptiness ..._

_Absent Elements - Finger Eleven_

----- 

She had slept soundly. And for the first time since her nightmarish journey had begun, she was not afraid upon awakening. For a moment she did not moved and concentrated only on feeling; the heat of the solid form at her back and the arms wrapped around her were something to be savoured. Yes, the one who held her was Sephiroth, but something had been breached between them, and something else built. No matter that she didn't want this affection for him, or that it terrified her, shamed her - she simply had no choice.

Such things were the whim of fate. 

Her eyes opened, languidly. Sometime during the night she had turned, and now she lay facing Sephiroth, her head nestled securely in the hollow of his neck. She was afraid to move, to see those eyes and all they held upon her. Shyly she shifted, pulling away slightly, raising herself enough to see his face.

She smiled, surprised. Sephiroth, who had once been the most fierce General of all time, was asleep at her side. 

His arms, while still enfolding her, were relaxed, limp, and that in itself was enough to tell her that his sleep was not feigned. Taking this opportunity to study him unguarded, she let her eyes wander over his form. In repose his face lost its arrogance, the imperious angles softening. His lashes, pale and long, lay against his cheek. Wayward strands of his hair had fallen across his brow, trailing down to lie pooled on the mattress. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her hand to brush it aside.

With a swiftness that startled her, his own hand clamped around her wrist, and his eyes snapped open. They were unfocused, dazed, but after a moment recognition flooded through them, and his hand fell away from her own. 

"I was sleeping?" He asked huskily, surprise evident in his tone.

"Yes." Now that he was awake, she felt shy again, awkward. She drew away, attempting to extricate herself from his grasp. 

"I do not sleep." He said then, and with no exertion whatsoever he pulled her firmly back against him.

"But you were," she replied. She didn't fight him because she didn't really want to leave. She felt safe here, and cared for, and so she pushed all her doubts and fears aside and again rested her head against his shoulder. 

"Impossible." He muttered. Aerith, smiling again a little, sat up again to see his expression. His head resting on the pillow, he watched her through eyes dancing with something she'd never seen them hold before: mirth. All her nervousness had vanished, gone inexplicably, and so she reached out again to brush the stray lock of hair away from his temple. He made no move to stop her. Her fingers lingered then, tracing his brow, the line of his cheek. Amusement faded from his gaze, replaced by something else, something intense and akin to hunger, and it stilled her breath in her throat.

Silence fell for long moments. She could not tear her eyes from his. Her heart was thudding, increasing in pace, and she felt the wild urge then to run frantically away. He remained still, as if he knew that to move would send her into retreat. She swallowed thickly, feeling as if she were suffocating, and did something unprecedented. 

She raised herself higher, and dropped her hand to curl about his neck. Trembling now, afraid, she pressed her lips against his. It was a timid, tentative movement, and for a moment he did not respond. Had he rejected her? She made to pull away, but with one hand gently on the back of her head he drew her back down to secure again a kiss.

It was like nothing she'd ever known before, and different than the other kisses he had given her. There was no cruelty in this, no spite, and she couldn't help but be lost as his lips moved firmly, tenderly over her own. With a subtle change of pressure he opened her mouth with his own, and the kiss took on a whole new angle. _This_ was exhilirating, this was amazing, and it continued until she felt as though she would faint from lack of breath. 

He allowed her then to draw away, and the only sound in the room was of their mingled breathing. She couldn't help the blush that crept into her face, and when she raised her eyes to his own they were fairly glowing with things she was afraid to read. Embarassed, she looked away.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of," He said then, knowing what thoughts raced through her mind. 

"Isn't there?" She asked softly, gaze returning to him. He knew what she spoke of; the reality that existed beyond this room, beyond his arms, that would swallow them both soon enough.

He shook his head, and it was his turn to trace the curve of her cheek, draw his fingers lightly over the softness of her lips. "I cannot change what is." 

"I know." She replied, but wanted to ask him if he would, had he the power. She said nothing further, however, and let herself enjoy his caress. It was madness, and yet she couldn't hate herself for enjoying this, for letting him touch her. It felt _right._ She sat up then, and his hands fell away to fall across his sides.

"Thank you," he said, "for this." 

She didn't respond, didn't know how to. Instead she rose from the bed, conscious of his gaze upon her, and moved to the window. The shutters hadn't been drawn, and she could see now the sun cresting the horizon, bathing the Saucer and the world around it in brilliant tinges of orange and red. Everything had changed so swiftly, so tremendously, and she was left shaken in the wake. Less than twelve hours ago she'd been standing here, reflecting on her friends, on Cloud, and wondering what on earth she was to do. She'd thrown everything to the wind so suddenly, and embraced what she surely knew to be wrong ...

"Don't do that," Sephiroth said from the bed. Startled out of her reverie, she turned to him. He was sitting, naked from the waist up, his long snowy hair falling over his shoulders, tousled. His eyes were grim now, serious, and he said, "Don't regret." 

"How can I not?" She wondered aloud, turning back to the dawn. "You make it sound so easy, but I can't just forget ... everything that's happened ..."

As if it were the answer to everything, he said, "Things have changed." 

"Yes," she whispered sadly, "They have."

Sounds from behind her, and then he was there, warm at her back. So strong was the urge to lean into him, let him hold her, but instead she stepped aside and turned. 

"It's late," she told him. "We should be going."

"Aerith ..." 

She shook her head. "We will leave, Sephiroth, and outside this room we will be the same people we were. We are enemies. No amount of wishing or denial will change that."

He sighed. "I am not your enemy." 

"Yet you will still take me to Jenova, for her to use as she sees fit. I am Cetra, and Jenova is my enemy. You are her son, and you do her bidding. I can't deny what is reality."

Sudden exasperation flared in his eyes, and his expression soured. In a clipped voice he said, "Very well. We leave in ten minutes. Don't tarry." He strode to where his long coat lay strewn at the foot of the bed, and picked it up. He did not look at her as he put it on, and once all the clasps were fastened he left the room. Aerith, moving slowly, donned her own coat and boots, and tried to ignore how much his disappointment hurt her. 


	20. Twenty

-----

_I looked right through to see you naked and oblivious ... And you don't see me._

_3 Libras - A Perfect Circle_

------- 

Sephiroth was waiting for Aerith in the lobby of the hotel. As she descended the stairs, she observed him tucking a triangular object into one of the inner pockets of his coat before glancing surreptitiously about. He noticed her arrival then, but said nothing, and merely motioned her out the door.

The did not leave the Golden Saucer by the way they had entered; instead, Sephiroth chartered a plane. He said very little, still irate with her, but did mention that their next destination was in the midst of the small island cluster to the southeast. The plane was also a new experience for Aerith, as she had never flown before, but the venture was overshadowed by the misery that settled upon her like an unrelenting cloud. It was a small aircraft, capable of carrying only four people, and it took off from an aerial pad on the uppermost levels of the Saucer. Sephiroth sat in the cockpit with the pilot, while Aerith was delegated to the back. Neither of them spoke for the duration of the flight, which was just short of four hours. 

For a while Aerith watched the land pass by below, intrigued by the way she saw everything from a different aspect from above. Very frequently her thoughts strayed to Sephiroth, and whatever it was that existed between them, and her mood became somber. She had enjoyed his touch, his kiss, and yet the knowledge that she had so very easily succumbed to him overwhelmed her with guilt. How could she do such a thing?

And, she mused grimly, how could she not? 

It was almost as if ... as if she cared for him. Was it possible he felt the same for her? Her eyes strayed to where he was seated at the front of the plane, only the back of his head visible. He was not the same man that had abducted her all those days ago, was not the same man who had threatened so easily to kill Tifa. This was a new person, frightening in his difference, terrifying for the fact that she was so strongly drawn to him. All the same, he was still taking her to Jenova, still working under Jenova's will, and that was something she could not ignore.

They reached their island destination around midday. The plane touched down roughly, having to use a grassy stretch of land for lack of an actual runway. The moment she left the plane, the heat hit her with such force that she immediately wished to be back on the air conditioned plane. On the ground, Sephiroth paid the pilot his wages, and once that was done he gestured for Aerith to follow him. 

The small aircraft departed with the noisy whine of its engines. From the flat, grassy area Sephiroth led Aeris up a slight incline. She had removed her coat, carrying it bundled under one arm, but already her clothes were damp from the muggy, oppressive air. The plants here were of the like she had never before seen; exotic, vibrant flowers and trees with long, slender leaves. She had heard of the tropical climes, but had never expected to see one first hand, and for a while her gloom lifted as she gazed at the marvels around them. As usual, Sephiroth paid no attention whatsoever to the surroundings and instead led them on with single minded purpose.

Hours passed. Occasionally, they would stop, and Sephiroth would produce from within his coat a canteen filled with water or a small ration of dried food. He would not speak to her, would not look at her, and it disturbed her how much she was bothered by this. If only she could forget all that had been ... perhaps then they would have a chance? 

She stole a glance at him as they stood together on a rise, looking down into the thick jungle below. His face was impassive, as if chiselled from marble, and he would not acknowledge her gaze. Was this how it was to be then? Back to being prisoner and captive?

She sighed. There was no answer forthcoming, and Sephiroth had started walking again, down the hill towards the jungle. Despairing, she slowly followed after him. 

-----

Sephiroth nursed his anger throughout the hours of the day. He was confused, he was irritated, and he was apprehensive; all of this combined made him furious. Why couldn't Aerith accept the fact that he no longer meant her harm? Why couldn't she take his word that he wouldn't let Mother harm her, that things had changed? He understood that what had transpired was hard to believe, but what was done was done, and that was all there was to it. This morning, when he had awakened to find her watching him with open curiosity and wonder - never before had he felt such contentment. When she had kissed him willingly it felt as though his heart had dropped, and though it was a disconcerting feeling he had liked it all the same. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, they had reached an understanding ... 

But they hadn't. And because she doubted him still and refused to accept the fact that they were meant to have this bond between them, he had grown angry.

It wasn't as if she were unsure of how she felt about him. He _knew_ she desired him; as they travelled he caught the shy glances she cast his way full of longing and confusion. She'd admitted as much this morning when they had lain together. He also realized she was still afraid, and he wished he could take that fear from her, but she held onto it like some sort of shield. He had never experienced anything remotely like this before, and hadn't the faintest clue how to go about handling it. And so, as the day progressed, he found himself becoming firmly mired in a mixture of irritation and bewilderment. 

It was not a place he wished to be.

It was an hour before sunset when he decided to stop their travel for the day. They had been following the edge of the jungle for all this time; entering the mazelike forest would have severely slowed them down. They had reached the beach; the white sand stretched to the north as far as they could see, and the gentle sound of the rising sound mixed with the soft calls of the jungle. It was warm enough that even he was sweating, the leather of his coat sticking uncomfortably to the bare skin underneath; they would not need a fire tonight. From within an inner pocket he withdrew a pouch containing dried fruit, and another containing dried meat, and tossed them to Aerith. She caught them silently, and settled herself cross legged on the sand before starting to eat. The canteen was, he noticed, almost empty. Curtly ordering her not to leave this place, he went off in search of fresh water. 

It took him longer than he had anticipated to locate such a source. A fair distance from where he'd called a halt he found a small pond just within the boundaries of the jungle, and after sampling the water himself he refilled the waterskin. It was almost an hour later when he returned to find that Aerith, weary from the days exertions, curled on her side and fast asleep in the sand.

He gently set the canteen down beside her, and stepped away. He wanted nothing more than to lie down with her and hold her, kiss her ... 

He snarled at himself. He was a man, and not a slave to emotion. Swiftly, almost violently, he divested himself of his coat, flung it down on the sand, and walked out to the waves rushing into shore.

----- 

It was the sound of the ocean which brought her to wakefulness. She sat up, blinking, to find that the sun was just sinking below the horizon. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, had in fact meant to wait until Sephiroth returned in order to speak with him. Immediately she noticed the canteen beside her and the crumpled leather and metal pile that was Sephiroth's coat. Casting a glance around and finding him nowhere near, she lifted the waterskin, uncorked it, and drank deep. Her thirst quenched, she set about unlacing her boots, wanting to feel beneath her feet the sand. That done she stood, and wondering where her captor had gone she headed for the water.

The reflection of the setting sun off the waves was achingly beautiful. She was almost to the water when she saw him, standing not far out, the water rising around his thighs He was facing away from her, as if he too were watching the sun set. Sitting on the shore, safely away from the water, were his tall black boots. Slowly, hesitantly, Aerith approached the waves. As the ocean closed around her skin she sucked in a breath; the water was refreshing, cool, and after a moment she waded a little further. Sephiroth had not turned, and she was unsure whether he was ignoring her or if he could not hear her approach. This close she could see his entire form was wet; his hair hung in sopping tails to his hips. He was naked from the waist up; water on his pale skin caught and reflected the last of the sun's light. 

The very sight of him took her breath away.

For long moments she stood there, the waves lapping gently at her knees, watching him, wanting to commit this image to memory forever. When finally she found her voice, she called softly, "Sephiroth?" 

He turned his head then, to see her standing behind him and to the right. He watched as she drew closer, wading slowly through the waves that tried weakly to push her back, until she stood at his side. His eyes held a speculative light, his demeanour contemplative, and after a moment he turned back to watch the sunset.

"Leave me." 

His words were quiet, but Aerith winced anyways. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to wind her arms around him and lose herself within his being. She replied just as quietly, "No."

She watched as one corner of his mouth curved upwards mirthlessly. The water was above her waist now, but it was warm, pleasant. She said then, "I'm sorry." 

Luminous green eyes returned to her, measuring. "You have no reason to be."

"Don't I?" She asked. She took a step closer to him, hesitant. "This is just as strange to you as it is to me. I'm afraid, but I'm not afraid of you. Not any longer." 

He didn't answer, his gaze unwavering.

"Understand," she said, "That wanting to be with you goes against everything I am. We are opposites, Sephiroth, like the sun and the moon. What you serve, what you believe in, is everything I was raised to despise. I cannot just forget that." 

"I know." He agreed, surprising her. "But here we are, together, and there is nothing that either of us can do about it."

And that was the absolute truth of their situation. 

"I never once questioned Mother's will," he continued, "I accepted because she and I are connected. We are alike as nothing else on this Planet is or will be."

Aerith shook her head. "The one you call Mother is an abomination, a monstrosity." 

"So say the Ancients. So say the Cetra. But Mother is power; Mother seeks to free this world of all the pests that riddle it."

"Is your faith so unwavering?" 

It was a simple question. He looked at her then, and his expression was one she had never seen him wear before. He seemed lost, isolated. "It used to be," he said, "But not any longer. I don't know what I believe, now."

His words stunned her, inspired her to move towards him, reach for him. He caught hold of her like a drowning man, burying his face in her neck, and for a long while they remained thus, the only sound the rhythmic rising of the waves around them. When he raised his head and fiercely claimed her mouth with his own she was willing, eager. Her hands came in contact with the hard, sculpted muscles in his chest and ran over them lightly; he made a sound then like a contented cat. She giggled, and he lifted his head with a smile. 

He swung her into his arms so swiftly she let out a startled cry, and turning he carried her to shore. When they reached the spot where the canteen and his coat lay he set her upon the sand, ever so gently, and followed her down. Again, their lips melded, and she met his passion with trembling eagerness. He was so careful with her, as if she were something fragile, something unreal, and the way it made her feel was indescribable. In turn, she treated him like some sort of marvel she had only just discovered, something she'd always searched for and had just now found.

Later, when the sky was well and dark, and he'd reined in his desire with great and forcible effort, they lay intertwined beneath the stars. Nothing was said, for words could only mar this moment, this instant that neither of them ever expected to have. Different as they were, in their own ways this was a type of salvation. 

In that they were well matched.


	21. Twenty One

-----

_One day, through the rain I heard him meekly moan, he said "Will you wrap your arms around me as I'm falling?"_

_The Boy Who Destroyed The World - AFI_

----- 

Hours before dawn, Sephiroth disentangled himself from Aerith with infinite care. Sitting back on his heels, he reached for his discarded coat and gently pulled it over her in order to block the slight chill that had come with the night. She hadn't stirred upon his leaving, and lay still on her side with her head pillowed on one arm. With the merest of smiles, he leaned forwards and brushed her temple with his lips, a whisper of a kiss, before getting to his feet.

Retrieving his sword and scabbard from where it had lain beneath his coat, he slipped it over one arm and buckled it across his chest. He cast one last glance at Aerith where she lay deep in slumber, and, judging her to be safe for the time being, padded softly to the beach to retrieve his boots where they lay near the water. The sand still retained the heat from the day previous and was warm beneath his bare feet. Kneeling to buckle his boots, he watched for a moment as the stars and the sliver of the moon rippled upon the gentle waves. This scenery would be forever etched in his memory, and with another smile, wistful this time, he turned from the ocean and strode forth to enter the jungle. 

His destination was not far from here, at most a two hour walk, entrenched deep within the exotic forest. It was a temple, the Temple of the Ancients, to be exact, and it was this place he had been heading for ever since leaving the Shinra building with Aerith tow. Mother had been most adamant that he visit this place, for within its hallowed walls there lay a piece of powerful magic that would be of great assistance to them both. The Keystone to this temple, Mother had explained, was in the Golden Saucer. When he and Aerith had arrived at the Golden Saucer, it had been his every intent to secure the Keystone and thus gain entry to the Temple.

Now, however ... 

His belief and his faith had been fragmented in the space of several hours. No longer was he driven only by righteous indignation that Mother had fueled for all these long years; no longer did he desire the utter eradication of every living being on this Planet. All that seemed to matter now, all that was the center of his thoughts was Aerith, her well being, and the undeniable fact that they belonged together.

How could it be? He couldn't fathom the abruptness of the change that had overwhelmed him. All he knew was that he felt more ... _alive_ than he had ever before, and it was a sensation he was very reluctant to relinquish. But he could not just forget what he had been sent to do, nor could he forget that Mother was waiting for him far to the north. When he was with Aerith, all the rage and hatred that had made him the fierce warrior he were stilled, calmed inexplicably by her presence. It was disconcerting, it was a trifle frightening, but peace was something he'd had very little of in the course of his life, and it was something he was surprised to learn that he enjoyed. 

The reason he was headed for the Temple now, in the hours before dawn, was quite simple. He intended on discovering what exactly dwelt in the levels of the Temple, and attempting to discern what Mother needed it for. Though there had been a time when everything had seemed so vibrantly clear and every choice he had made had seemed so right, all that had vanished in the span of a mere few days and left behind nothing but lingering doubt.

His greatest fear was that Aerith was right about Mother, right about her intent. And if she was ... 

Then he had been nothing but a pawn.

----- 

He stood before the Temple of the Ancients, a ziggurat older than time rising through the thick, steamy confines of the jungle. The sky was still dark, and the air was filled with nothing but the cries of the nocturnal creatures dwelling all around. He knew the history of this place, knew that the Cetra had built this place and hid within it their powers and mystery. That was why he had left Aerith behind, sleeping safely and unaware of what he was about to do. He couldn't bring her here; he was afraid of how it would affect her. This place was dangerous, extremely so. As he stood before this monolithic structure, he felt, for the first time in his life, somewhat small and insignificant.

He shook off this insecurity, and resolutely began to climb the long, narrow staircase leading to the top of the Temple. The steps were weathered and worn away completely in some places; despite this, he moved over them easily. Upon reaching the summit he entered the small doorway, bending slightly as not to hit his head upon the low ceiling. It was dimly lit inside, and he spotted several small torches burning in a line along the stone walls. There was an indescribable smell in here; ancient and damp. It was not a large room he stood in, and directly before him stood a small stone altar with two round indentations upon it. Bringing forth the Keystone from his pocket, he placed it in the largest of the indents. 

He began sinking through the floor suddenly, as if he had become incorporeal. He was not surprised; he knew this was the only way to reach the Inner Sanctum. Once his feet rested solidly again on a stone floor, he began to wind his way through the bowels of the Temple.

It was a confusing place, and though Mother had infused within him some knowledge of the complex, intricate layout he found himself several times wondering which way to go. It was not long, however, until he found himself where he wanted to be. 

The first thing he noticed was the walls. This room was long, rectangular, and cavernous, and the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in colorful, if somewhat faded illustrations. Torches were set in grooves carved in massive pillars that ran in two rows down the center of the room. Footsteps echoing throughout the length of the large chamber, he approached the walls and began to study them.

It was not long before an odd, hollow feeling settled within the pit of his stomach. Though he could not understand the thin spidery writing that narrated the pictures, the meaning was all to clear. A very long time ago, there had come from the skies something monstrous, something astronomical that had wreaked unbelievable destruction upon the Planet. Remembering something he read once in the Shinra mansion about the Calamity From the Skies, he realized that this was it ... 

And ... he recalled numbly, the Calamity From the Skies was another name for ... Jenova ...

He continued to follow the illustrations, walking slowly. It was all here, what had befallen the Cetra upon The Calamity's - _Jenova's_ - impact with the Planet. Housed within this Temple was a magic strong enough to summon something else from the skies, something huge and powerful ... 

_Meteor._

He wrenched his eyes from the last of the images and turned them upon another altar set at the end of the room. There it was, what Mother had sent him in search of, and he knew it for what it was now. 

_Black Materia._

He reached out a gloved hand, wanting to touch it, yet afraid to. Mother was not what he had thought she was, not what he wanted her to be ... how could he not have known all this? It was all so apparent, all so clear to him now; it was as if a shroud had been lifted from him and he could clearly for the first time in many years. The truth had been in front of him _all his life_ and he'd ignored it ... continued onwards with his just cause ... 

"I'm a fool." He whispered harshly, dropping his hand and backing away from the Black Materia. He wouldn't do this, wouldn't bring it to her. Whatever false cause he had crusaded under was gone, the illusion crumbled, and it was with alarming clarity he was forced to see his past. His thoughts were roiling, and as they did so several things fell into place in swift succession.

_Jenova Project_

_Professor Gast_

_Hojo_

Was that all he was, then? A human who had been tampered with, made impure by the taint of the Calamity? Is that why he had been raised from childhood alone, without a parent to call his own? All this time, he'd thought - _been certain_ - that the power that ran in his veins, the power that made him so very different from the rest of the human race was something pure, something righteous. That was why Mother's words had made sense, and that was why the Planet had to be cleaned. He snorted, the sound loud and abrasive in the almost reverent stillness of the Temple. 

He'd disillusioned himself so completely that he hadn't even had a clue. All those years ago, when he'd found Jenova in the Nibelheim reactor ... he'd convinced himself of one lie after another ...

"Sephiroth." 

He spun around, hair flying behind him in an arc. Standing at the opposite end of the chamber, impeccable in his dark suit, was none other than the leader of the Turks.

"Tseng." He said with some surprise. 

The Turk did not move, eyes straying to the colored walls. His gaze centered again on Sephiroth, and he said coolly, "Where is Aerith?"

Sephiroth's jaw clenched at the sound of _her_ name on Tseng's lips; jealousy so unfamiliar. He replied in a voice just as cool, "She is safe." 

They stared at each other for a moment, the animosity almost thick enough to choke on. Though the leader of the Turks was shorter and leaner than Sephiroth, he carried himself with a sort of assurance one did not recieve without years of experience. There was a time when the Turks and Sephiroth had been on the same side, but that was long past ...

Tseng said abruptly, "Let her go." 

"Sentimental feelings for her, Turk?" Sephiroth sneered, furious and bewildered by all he'd just realized.

Though there was no outward change in his expression, Tseng's color deepened slightly, and Sephiroth knew he'd hit a nerve. Malicious triumph rushed through him. 

"Let her go." Tseng repeated quietly.

Sephiroth smiled, and it was not pleasant. "Why? So you can take her back to Hojo for his experiments? Or maybe your sense of righteousness has prevailed and you'd do your best to keep her safe?" He stalked forwards, rage and frustration eating at him, wanting to use the Turk as an outlet for it all. "She's safe, Turk, and rest assured I will protect her better than you _ever_ could." 

Tseng's expression was now one of astonishment. "You mean to tell me -?"

Sephiroth stopped several feet from the other, the look in his eyes savage and violent. "That's right," he said, voice vibrating in its intensity, "She belongs to me."

"What," Tseng whispered in blatant disbelief, "could you ever know about loving someone?" 

The question, poignant and simple, gave Sephiroth pause. What could he know about loving someone? Even as he asked it of himself, he had no answer, and he felt something simmering within him begin to boil over at the lack of an apparent answer.

"You know nothing." Tseng continued, voice gaining volume. "She'll die with you." 

"_She - will - not!_" Sephiroth snarled.

The Turk leader was backing away, and in his hand now he held an automatic pistol. "What can you hope to give her, Sephiroth? An easy death? We both know that won't happen. Free her, save her from -"

"SHUT UP!" 

Without conscious thought, Sephiroth was moving, the masamune clear of its sheath, channelling all he felt into his attack. Tseng, already aiming, began to fire, and the bullets ripped through Sephiroth's shoulder and side. He didn't stop, kept moving, and in the moment before the blade fell his only desire was to wipe the condescension and doubt from the Turk's face.

Tseng fell to one knee, clutching his stomach, and Sephiroth whirled. The wound wasn't fatal, but was most assuredly one of great pain, and that gave the once General great, vindictive satisfaction. Without bothering to wipe the blood from the blade he slid it back into the scabbard, and the smile he gave was cold and mirthless. 

"Rest assured, Turk, that I will take care of her. You need not concern yourself with her fate."

Tseng gave no reply, but instead slumped over, eyes closed in agony. Trembling from the tumultous emotions running though him, breathing quickly, Sephiroth turned on his heel and left the room. 

Outside the Temple, the first hints of dawn were brightening the sky. He paused at the bottom of the stairs to pry the bullets from his body, growling at the pain. He couldn't erase Tseng's words from his mind, couldn't help the doubt that still lingered within him because of those words.

The question was not whether he did love Aerith. The question was whether he could. 


	22. Twenty Two

----- 

_So grow, libido throw dominoes of indiscretions down - falling all around in cycles, in circles; constantly consuming, conquer and devour._

_The Hollow - A Perfect Circle_

-----

"Aerith." 

She awoke with a start, the sound of her name echoing forth from the remnants of her dream. Her eyes opened and focused on the visage of Sephiroth, crouched over her, looking pale and insubstantial in the grey light of the overcast dawn. His torso was bare but for the wide leather strap of his scabbard crossing his chest. She sat up with a murmur, disoriented and still very tired.

"Good morning," he said quietly. 

Brushing a hand over her eyes, she nodded in response. He hadn't moved and was watching her with barely concealed agitation. As she began to gather up his coat he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Aerith," he said again, and there was something different in his voice, something intense that made her raise her eyes to his own. His expression was serious, almost grim, and his gaze carried concern and something akin to ... uncertainty? He didn't speak for long moments, studying her, his fingers now moving in a light caress over her wrist. 

"What -?" She began to ask him, frowning, but he shook his head to interrupt her.

"There are ... some things that I must tell you." 

"What are they?" Still frowning, slightly worried, she intertwined her fingers with his. When he didn't immediately reply, she went on, "Sephiroth?"

He made a noise then, frustrated, and glanced away. Her eyes fell then to the traces of blood that painted his pale skin, and with an exclamation she reached out her free hand to probe gently what appeared to be a bullet wound. Noticing then that there were two, she caught his chin in her hand and forced his head around until his gaze was again level with hers. 

"What happened?"

He settled himself down on the ground, cross legged, and with a quickness that surprised her he drew her into his lap, her back against his chest. Nestled securely within his arms, she could feel the steady thud of his heart against her skin. He rested his cheek against her hair, and sighed. Another moment passed before he began to speak. 

He told her all he had to tell; pieces of his childhood that were relevant, his past with Hojo, all the things he had once believed to be of the utmost importance. She remained silent throughout his telling, listening, beginning to understand, finally, what had made Sephiroth into the man he was. He spoke vividly of Mother, of her words to him, of how she had made him feel as though they were one, two beings separated from the rest of the world by their power. And he told her of the Temple of the Ancients, and of his encounter with Tseng, and when he his voice died away she was quiet for long minutes after.

Almost apprehensively, he turned her to face him then, needing to know what it was she thought and felt. Her expression, though grave, did not contain what he half feared it would: fear, revulsion, panic. With the merest trace of a sad, wistful smile she brushed her soft fingers across his brow. 

"So," she whispered, and for a moment he lost himself in the intensity of her gaze, "this is where we stand?"

"This is where we stand." He confirmed quietly. 

"Then I am glad." She kissed him, tenderly, quickly, and drew away again. "I do not want to be anywhere else."

His eyes, just as intense, were grim and questioning. "You are sure?" 

She nodded, once, and her smile then was serene. "I am."

"Then," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting, pulling her in close once more, "so am I." 

-----

The plane they had chartered the day previous returned for them midday; Sephiroth had left instructions for the pilot to do so. Sephiroth had wanted to venture to the next place Mother had insisted he visit, a place once hailed as the City of the Ancients. There was something there, he explained, something that Mother dearly wanted, and perhaps by finding it they could seal it away, keep it safe. Sephiroth could hardly fathom now doing Jenova's bidding - so much had changed in such a short time. Aerith was excited about the Ancient City for many different reasons, most of which had something to do with the fact that she was the last surviving Ancient. 

The flight was much longer this time, well over 8 hours, and Aerith and Sephiroth sat together in the back of the plane, out of earshot of the pilot. Aerith spoke then, telling him about her ancestors, about her Materia, and her dealings with Hojo and the Turks. He listened avidly and with great interest; it was surprising the way he wished to know everything about her. With her telling he began to realize more and more just how much of a fool he had been, and exactly what kind of manipulation Jenova had used upon him.

The plane landed in the late afternoon, and they emerged into a climate much different than the one they had previously left. It was a cold land; upon reaching the open air Aerith shivered. They stood upon a plain patched with snow; behind them, to the south, were the frigid waters of another ocean. To the north rose towering, white capped peaks. Directly before them, lying in the shadow of the mountains, was what appeared to be a thick forest, and from above that forest rose the hints of civilization. 

"What is that?" Aerith asked Sephiroth as the plane departed again, shouting over the noise of the engine and pointing to the rooftops that were visible.

"Bone Village." He replied, face obscured momentarily as the chill northern wind whipped long strands of his hair forwards. 

"And beyond that?"

"The Ancient City." 

They exchanged a glance; the bond they shared now, however unexpected, was stronger than either cared to admit. Whatever lay in the past, whatever they had done previous was of no importance now. There was just this: the two of them once enemies, now sharing an affection like neither had ever known. Taking her hand in his own, he led her forwards, resolute.

----- 

The inhabitants of Bone Village, who were in reality nothing more than a few scientists and archaeologists, paid Aerith and Sephiroth little mind as they passed through the small encampment which was what Aerith had seen rising above the trees. They lived, it seemed, amongst the scattered bones of some enormous creature that had existed in centuries past. Beyond the small campsite, above on a ridge was the line of the thick forest. As the two attempted to enter the forest, however, they found that the trees formed an impenetrable barrier that they could not pass.

"I do not understand," Sephiroth muttered after several minutes of trying to hack through the offending greenery with his masamune. "Mother made it sound as if entrance would be easy." 

Aerith did not answer, her expression distant as if hearing something he could not. From where it lay in her braid she withdrew her materia, and held it forth. Almost immediately it began to glow, and slowly and with a great groaning sound, the trees moved to form an entrance.

"How ...?" Sephiroth asked her, but then trailed off, seeing the faraway look in her eyes. He stepped closer, concerned. "Aerith?" 

"I can hear them," she whispered, tucking her materia into one of her coat pockets. Without glancing at him, she stepped past and entered the forest. He was quick to follow, and grasped her by the elbow as they drew further into the trees.

For long moments neither of them spoke. This place seemed almost mystical; wispy tendrils of white fog drifted in and around the trees, and there was an eerie silence surrounding them, as if this setting were too holy to mar with sounds. Their footsteps seemed harsh and echoing in the stillness, and Sephiroth found himself becoming increasingly alert the further they went. 

A change had come over Aerith upon entering the trees. Her face was drawn, lines of extreme concentration creasing her face. Beneath his grasp, Sephiroth could feel her trembling. She seemed as though she was in another place entirely, called onwards by something that was unheard but must be obeyed.

And then, so fast it was startling, they found themselves on a ridge overlooking what had to be the city of the Ancients. Sephiroth cast a glance behind them, wondering for a moment if the trees had expelled them. At his side, Aerith made a sound, and quickly his eyes returned to her. She was speaking soundlessly, incoherently, and then with a swiftness that took him by surprise she wrenched free of his grasp and hurtled down the path before them. 

He was after her an instant later, and it did not take long for him to overtake her. He tried to catch her arm, and with a scream she twisted away. For a moment they stared at each other, and he saw in her eyes no sign of recognition whatsoever.

"Aerith?" 

She was panting slightly, cheeks flushed. And then slowly her eyes calmed, and she said in a quavering voice, "I'm sorry ... Sephiroth. I can hear them ... it's confusing ..."

"What are they saying?" 

"I don't know. I can't tell." Her tone was alarmed now, almost panicked. "They're screaming at me ..."

Feeling helpless, knowing the answer lay within the city, he said only, "Let us continue." 

-----

The city was breathtaking. Built of shells and gleaming stone set amongst the branches of a massive white tree, it rose from a canyon floor, towering and majestic. Aerith led the way unerringly, as if she had been here before. Sephiroth followed her closely, not wanting to lose her here, and concerned about what would happen if he did. After several minutes at a brisk pace they reached the base of the enormous city; a slender, sinuous path made of pearly shell stretched out before them. Without hesitation, Aerith pressed on, but the moment Sephiroth set foot on the pathway pain like nothing he'd ever known ripped through his head.

_-SON-_

He cried out then, and at the sound Aerith whirled around. Mother's voice, suspiciously absent for so long, had returned in force. Never had he heard her like this, never had her tone caused such searing, rending agony, and the impact of it all dropped him to his knees.

_-MY SON, YOU MUST-_

"Sephiroth?" Aerith's voice, rising for a moment above Mother's; a sound soothing, a sound he longed to hear.

_-YOU MUST DESTROY THE CETRA-_

_Yes!_ He must do this; Mother wanted him to, and he wanted Mother to be happy. Staggering to his feet, he pulled with shuddering hands his masamune free and brought it over his shoulder. Through bleared eyes he stared at the girl -the _Cetra_- where she stood several feet away, fear blatant in her expression. She said his name again, and Mother's call receded. He stared uncomprehendingly at the blade in his hands -had he drawn it?

_-DESTROY THE CETRA, MY SON-_

"N-No ..." he panted, but took a faltering step towards Aerith anyways.

_-DO THIS FOR ME-_

"Mother -" He choked, and raised the blade.

"Sephiroth," Aerith breathed. 

He let drop the blade, and it hit the ground with a sharp clang. Stumbling backwards, trying to block Jenova's voice, he threw up one arm and shouted, "Get away from me!"

Instead, Aerith took a hesitant step closer. 

"_Get - away - from - me!_" He screamed as Mother's rage engulfed him. He wanted nothing more than to rend the Cetra's flesh with his blade, tear her limb from limb - but somewhere, in the furthermost corner of his mind something was shrieking at him that he couldn't harm her, he couldn't -

She was still standing there, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. He lunged at her then, unable to help himself, but stumbled and fell. Glaring up from where he lay, he roared in fury, "_RUN FROM ME!_" 

She needed no further persuasion. With one last terrified glance, she turned on her heel and fled.


	23. Twenty Three

----- 

_I can't stand my laughter as they cry. My soul brings tears to angelic eyes. And miles away my mother cries. Omnipotence, nurturing malevolence._

_God Called In Sick Today - AFI_

-----

_This way, Child._

Aerith, driven by fear, ran headlong into the City of the Ancients. She could still hear Sephiroth's words ringing in her mind; she knew that he was fighting Jenova, knew that Jenova had ordered him to kill her. There were other voices in her mind, ancient and wise, directing her, guiding her through this beautiful and alien city.

_Closer, Child._

Were these the Ancients she heard, rising from distant memories to haunt her now? She was unsure, but adhered to their words anyway. Had circumstances been different, she would have stopped to marvel at the unearthly structures around her; now she could only race onwards, driven by the unseen force which spoke to her in sounds so familiar. She came to a staggering halt as the path she was on forked in three directions. Quietly, but with a strange sense of urgency the voices told her which way to go, and without hesitation she began running again down the middle trail.

She slowed only when she seemingly had reached a dead end; rising before her on the edge of a remarkably crystalline pool, was an enormous shell, spiralled with an ethereal sheen. Breathing hard, she took a few more steps towards the shell, peering inside the opening, and noticed immediately that there was some sort of staircase leading ... underground? 

_Come down, Child._

Aerith paused at the top of an steep, delicate staircase made of shimmering crystal. Below, far below, was a building of the likes of which she had never seen. It was similar to a cathedral carved of gleaming stone, reaching towards her with elegant twists and intricate arcs. She caught her breath then, and tears she had stopped crying stung her eyes again at the impossible beauty of the place. 

_Come, Child._

Unable to resist the call had she even wanted to, she began to descend. 

-----

_-SON, WHY DO YOU NOT OBEY?-_

Sephiroth had no answer, and instead gasped as Jenova's disapproval thundered through him, rending his mind. He was moving at a faltering run, driven by Mother's desire to see the Cetra bleed and his own desire to keep her safe and well. He had not an inkling of where he was going, knew only that he had to keep moving. Each step was torture; it seemed that Mother, sensing his refusal to carry out her bidding, was determined to punish her wayward child.

_-YOU BETRAY ME-_

"No ..." he said weakly, but he knew she could discern the lie.

_-WHY?-_

He had no answer, at least not one he could voice coherently. Instead he continued on, staggering, paying no mind whatsoever to his surroundings. Time passed marked only by the rise and ebb of Jenova's anger.

Until abruptly, it stopped. 

So sudden it left him breathless, Mother's voice had receded. Shaking in the aftermath of her fury, he steadied himself before looking around, trying to get a bearing. He stood at a fork in the road; there were three paths branching to the left, to the right, and to the center. Desperately he wondered where Aerith had gone, and why Jenova had left. What caused his heart to race in apprehension, however, was the strength of Mother's presence in his mind. For it to be this powerful, this clear, it had to mean that a piece of her self was somewhere close by.

"Aerith!" He shouted, his voice echoing eerily. There was no reply. He cursed, and having no idea which direction to take set foot on the center path. 

_-THERE IS ANOTHER-_

Sephiroth fell heavily to one knee, both hands clutching his head. What did she mean? 

_-THE CETRA-_ Jenova raged, her voice a painful tidal wave, _-WILL DIE.-_

Struggling against her overwhelming words, he struggled again to his feet. In a voice barely more than a hoarse gasp, he asked, "How?" 

Jenova did not answer; and as the agony in his head faded he knew she'd gone again, turning her attention elsewhere. It did not matter; suddenly a piece fell into place within the shadowed recesses in his mind and he knew the answer. The blood drained from his face, and then he was running, hurtling heedlessly down the center path, screaming Aerith's name.

----- 

This was where she belonged.

There was nothing here, nothing but a sense of fulfilment, completion, and the utmost belonging. The clear harmonic cadence of voices Aerith had heard since setting foot in the Ancient Forest had been leading her here, knowing what she would find. _This_ was absolution, this was what she had needed all of her life. Beneath the City of the Ancients, within a cathedral both older and more mysterious than time, she had found what she had unknowingly been searching for all this time. 

She had found what it meant to be Cetra.

She was kneeling now, in a place of holy sanctuary. Her eyes were wide and wet; tears of wonder and gratification were pouring in glittering trails down her face. Light, reflected from the water surrounding this small alcove, was caught in the crystal structures surrounding her. The result was a myriad of colors playing over her, playing around her. There was an inexplicable sense of serenity here, as if nothing tragic, nothing violent could ever occur within this sacrosanct place. The voices of the Ancients had changed the further she had descended; she could hear them clearly now, could understand what they were saying to her. 

They were welcoming her home.

So easy it was to forget everything, to forget who she had been, to forget who she had known. Closing her eyes, she lost herself within the singing of the spirits that haunted this place, within the chiming clarity of the Planet. Her materia, set now on the gleaming white floor before her, was pulsing in rhythm to everything she could hear. It was the song of Life, the song of Existance, and never before had she heard something so lovely. 

Time passed; it was impossible to mark how long. When finally she was brought to awareness once again, it was to the harsh, unpleasant sound of something other than the Ancients or the Planets. What roused her were human voices.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. For a moment the person leaping from pedestal to pedestal to reach the alcove in which she knelt was unfamiliar; alien. When he landed lightly a few feet opposite her position, recognition flooded through her, and with a voice soft and wonderous she said, "Cloud." 

"Aerith," the other breathed. Her gaze moved momentarily beyond him, past the pedestal steps, to where others stood, watching them both anxiously. She knew these people, cared for these people. Sudden movement drew her attention back to the blonde man who watched her through blue eyes so very earnest.

"Are you ... are you alright?" He asked her, voice husky with concern. 

She laughed then, a melodious, ringing sound that echoed all around them. Of course she was alright; she had never been better! _She was home._

"I'm fine," she told him, smiling still. 

"And ... Sephiroth?"

Her smile faded. She had forgotten Sephiroth for this brief time, so caught up in the emotions she'd discovered waiting for her here. The mention of his name brought longing, swift and sharp, to her heart, and she bowed her head suddenly. 

"I don't know where he is," she whispered.

She shook her head then against the remembered terror she'd felt when Sephiroth had shouted at her to run, run from him. She was safe here, she was loved here, and that was all that mattered ... why, then, could she not help the few tears that slipped from beneath her closed eyes? 

Before her, unnoticed, Cloud unsheathed his sword.

----- 

From far above, Sephiroth could see her, kneeling at an altar made of shining white stone and crystal. His eyesight, enhanced years past by a combination of Jenova cells and Mako energy, captured in perfect clarity the heart wrenching beauty she presented. Never before had he seen her look so at ease, so content; even with her eyes closed it was plain to see. Instead of rushing to her he watched her for long minutes as she knelt there, looking to be in prayer. An ache had started within his chest, edged and bitter, as he stared.

She was the very essence of beautiful. 

He was startled, suitably, when from seemingly out of nowhere another person appeared, jumping from step to step to reach Aerith's alcove. He couldn't contain the furious gasp that escaped him when he realized who it was.

_Strife._

He wanted to leap down there, hurtle through the air and land by her side. He wanted to release this protective rage upon Cloud Strife, tear the flesh from his bones and make him regret ever laying eyes upon Aerith. Instead, with great restraint, he watched as they exchanged words, and as she smiled at Cloud something snapped inside.

Was it possible she still had feelings for that mortal, that piece of spineless flesh? He couldn't deny how happy she looked, how serene; was this how it was to be, then? Perhaps she would be better off with Cloud; it was clear the boy would never harm her, and that he cared very deeply for her. 

And, though it was hard, very hard, for him to accept, he realized that it may be better for her to be with someone else besides himself.

As he thought this, he watched as Aerith closed her eyes and bowed her head. Was she praying now? Movement caught his eye, and what he saw next made him leap from the stair he had stood upon. 

Falling, air rushing all around him, Sephiroth watched numbly as below him Strife unsheathed his sword. He shouted a warning, but the wind caught it and carried it away. As the floor of the alcove rushed up to meet him and as he was drawing his own sword free, he was confronted by the images from a nightmare.

It was as if time had slowed. Strife raised his blade over his head; his arms trembled violently as though he was being forced to do the action against his will. Sephiroth knew he was, knew that Strife, much like himself, carried Jenova's taint. Suddenly there was ground, solid, beneath Sephiroth's feet, and an instant after landing he lunged with all the speed he had for the other man. As swift as he was, it wasn't enough; with a harsh yell Cloud let the sword fall. 

Silence. It was broken then by a soft, anguished sound, and then Aerith was falling, falling limply to lie motionless on her side. Blood, so much of it, was pooling beneath her, standing out vividly against the pristine whiteness of the alcove floor. Roiling, violent emotion broke over Sephiroth, and with an incoherent cry he flung himself to the floor to gather her into his arms. Her eyes were open, full of disbelief, and as they settled upon him something else flooded into their emerald depths.

"S-Sephiroth," she gasped. From the corner of her mouth came a thin crimson trickle. 

"Aerith." He said thickly, cradling her. It felt as if he were suffocating, as if he'd never breath again ...

"I -" She whispered, and then stiffened in his arms as more blood streamed from her mouth. 

"_You - will - not - leave - me!"_ He said desperately. She shook her head; in her eyes now there was sorrowed acceptance; she knew her fate. Ignoring the inevitable, ignoring the bitter truth before him, he gathered her close and stood. Across from them, Cloud had dropped his sword, stained as it was by her blood. He was crying in eerie silence, staring at his hands as if horrified. Sephiroth spared him no glance; he gathered his strength with iron will -

Seconds later Cloud raised his eyes, expecting to see Aerith, bleeding, being held by his arch nemesis. All that met his eyes, however, was the pool of her blood on the floor. 

-----

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Please be advised, this is **NOT** the last chapter. 


	24. Twenty Four

----- 

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone, and though you're still with me I've been alone all along._

_My Immortal - Evanescence_

-----

Far to the south, among tropical islands sparsely populated by man, there was a small village known as Mideel. Set within the midst of thick, exotic jungle, Mideel boasted a very small population. In the winter months, when in other places it was bitterly cold, Mideel became a famed tourist attraction for foreigners, drawn there by the warmth and scenery. Besides being a popular vacation destination, the small town was also known for one of its inhabitants. He was a doctor, one who was well practised in several types of medicine. People suffering from unusual, severe or mysterious maladies came from far and wide to attain both his aid and expert opinion. 

It was now the off season for tourists; in the humid midday heat the only people in the streets of the Mideel were the locals. Vendors of the shops had their wares outside, for it was much to pleasant to spend the day inside. In the midst of the street, not far from the shops, a group of village elders had gathered to discuss the weather and the rumors they had caught from the newspapers or televisions of major events in the rest of the world. Further up the street, situated on the outskirts of the town and surrounded by the jungle was the health clinic, were the doctor and his single nurse went about their work. It was quiet this day, the pleasant stillness broken only by the barks of a small puppy running to and fro and the frenzied muttering of a woman dashing from store to store, answered in turn by the tiny white chocobo following her. The doctor and the nurse were sitting in lounge chairs outside the clinic; they had no patients yet this day, and were taking advantage of the sunny weather. The doctor, an elderly yet healthy man, was leaning back in his chair, puffing contentedly on a long wooden pipe. The nurse was quite young and attractive, and as she occasionally answered a question the doctor threw her way she continued with knitting the dark socks which lay in her lap.

Both nurse and doctor were quite alarmed when suddenly before them appeared a spectacle; a tall man with remarkable snowy hair carrying in his arms an unconscious girl. It took only a moment for the both of them to realize that blood was dripping in steady rivulets from a wound in the girl's middle to the ground. The man raised his eyes, saw the universal sign for health clinic hanging from above the door, and took several quick steps towards the doctor and nurse. 

"Please," he said, and his voice was choked, "You are a doctor ...?"

The doctor, already knowing the seriousness of the situation, was on his feet in an instant. He did not answer the question, but instead moved to the door and opened it. "Get her inside," he ordered, "and put her on one of the beds." 

The strange man did as he was told, moving with easy swiftness inside the building and laying the girl gently onto the nearest of the cots. He stepped to the side as the doctor approached, followed closely by the nurse. The nurse, catching sight of the gruesome wound in the girl's torso, caught her breath in dismay. After placing a hand on the side of the girls neck to feel for a pulse, he turned to the stranger and shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry," he said with earnest honesty, "but with a wound like this ... there isn't much I can do. I'm surprised she's still alive-" 

"You must do something," the stranger interrupted tersely. His eyes, a vibrant sort of green not found naturally amongst humans, were wide and anguished. "You must, please. She cannot die. She can't."

The doctor raised his hands helplessly, and turned back to the girl. Blood had soaked through most of her clothes and was already staining the ivory hospital sheets crimson. The nurse was kneeling on the other side of the bed with one hand tenderly stroking the girl's clammy brow. She met the doctor's gaze; both knew it was hopeless - 

"I-I beg of you," said the stranger, and for a moment his voice broke as if he were unaccustomed to asking for help, "please do something for her. Anything."

"I'll do what I can." The doctor replied heavily after a moment, and gestured to the door. "Perhaps it would be best if you stepped outside while we-" 

"I'm staying." The other said. The doctor nodded his understanding, before turning to the nurse.

Quickly, efficiently, they began to work. They stripped the girl of her ragged clothing before washing the wound. It was a long, smooth gash, made undoubtedly by some type of large blade. Though tempted to ask the stranger how she had sustained such an injury, he didn't, knowing it was very unlikely he would get an answer. While the doctor set about further examination and then the stitching of the wound, the nurse busied herself with hooking up IV's and oxygen to the girl. Hours went by while they worked tirelessly, and the entire time the stranger stood in the corner by the head of the bed, expression intense and drawn. Finally, having done all they could have done, the doctor turned to the stranger while removing gloves wet with blood. 

"We've done what we could," he said quietly, "but this wound is severe, and it's not likely she'll survive."

The stranger blanched, but said in a voice no more than a whisper, "Thank you." 

For a moment the doctor gazed again upon his unexpected patient. Small and pallid resting upon the bed with small tubes protruding from her skin everywhere and her face covered almost entirely by the oxygen mask - it was a sight that made the doctor, who had seen every type of life threatening injury, experience a sharp pang of sorrow. He turned then, and headed for his office in order to record the procedures they had just used. The nurse pulled a chair from the corner of the room and pushed it before the stranger. "Sit," she told him gently.

There was a brief flicker of gratitude in the man's eyes as he took the offered seat. He moved as close as he could to the bed, and with a hand that shook slightly he reached out and intertwined his fingers with that of the girl. Still watching, the nurse felt a heavy ache settle in her heart as, for a moment, she glimpsed in the stranger's eyes anguished concern. This girl meant everything to him, she realized then, and was suddenly fighting off tears because she knew how very small the chances were that girl would survive ... 

The doctor had reappeared, and caught the nurse's eye. He made a gesture with his head; the nurse nodded, and silently exited the clinic. The doctor paused for a moment, taking in the scene before him, and sighed inwardly. Feeling helpless and saddened, he said, "We'll return in the morning. If anything is needed, press the button by the bed. It will bring both of us here."

The stranger nodded. With another heavy sigh, the doctor left the clinic, closed the door firmly behind him, and headed for home. 

-----

News spread quickly throughout Mideel of the arrival of the two strangers. Though some of the more curious villagers requested constantly to have a glance at the "dying girl", the doctor and the nurse steadfastly refused. Surprising them all, the girl was still alive, albeit barely; she did not move, she did not wake, and was now in a comatose state. The gash in her middle, looked after meticulously by both doctor and nurse, seemed to be healing. It was a miracle, the doctor explained to the strange man, that the girl was still alive after all the blood she'd lost. By all rights, he said, she should be dead. The stranger accepted his words with a bleak expression before turning his eyes again to the girl. 

Days passed, crawling by. The stranger was almost constantly in the clinic, spending the nights in the chair steadfastly holding the girl's hand. At times, he would rise, and without a word to anyone would stride out of the clinic, out of the village, and enter the jungle. He was never gone for long, and always returned to resume his bedside vigil. Village children, awed by the powerful image he presented, began to hang around outside the clinic, hoping to see him exit. Some of the local women, touched by the dying girl and her lover, started every morning to place exotic flowers they gathered outside the door to the clinic. The nurse picked up the flowers each day and placed them around the inside, adding some of her own.

At times during the day, both the doctor and the nurse would attempt to speak with the man. He told them very little about how he and the girl had come to be here, but did reveal her name was Aerith. The nurse thought this was a lovely name; she was beginning to care more and more about the fate of these two obviously star crossed lovers. When the clinic was empty, and there was nothing for her to do, the nurse would draw up a chair on the other side of the girl's bed and sit in silence with the man, adding her prayers to his own. Sometimes he would offer her a small smile of gratitude, other times he was focused completely on the one who lay so motionless on the bed. 

Days became weeks. Though the doctor said nothing to the stranger, he knew that the longer the girl remained in a coma, the less chance there was that she would ever awaken. He almost couldn't bear the thought of it; like the nurse, he too was deeply touched by the situation. The days became a ritual; until it became normal to the villagers to see an impressive man striding through their midst and to place flowers every morning outside the clinic. Doctor and nurse lived in a state of apprehension; she had survived against all odds, yes, but how long could she last? No answer came, and she lived through each night, and time still dragged on.

Until one day, the girl opened her eyes. 

-----

The nurse was alone in the clinic; the stranger was absent, gone into the jungle for whatever reason he chose not to reveal. She was sitting in her chair, knitting what she planned to be a lovely scarf for the girl in her care, when a soft noise drew her attention to the bed. 

The girl's eyes were open, large and haunted over the oxygen mask. They had focused on the nurse, seemingly dazed, and her brow was furrowed. Dropping her knitting needles in shock, the nurse shot to her feet and hovered over the girl. Her mouth was moving behind mask, and with fumbling fingers the nurse slid it over her head. She was still talking, though no sound eminated, and the nurse bent until her ear was directly over the girl's mouth.

"...am I?" The girl asked in a whisper that was almost silent. Tears stinging her eyes, the nurse gave her a watery smile. 

"You're in Mideel, darling." She said.

The girl frowned, breathing heavy as if even that movement needed great exhertion. She began to speak again, and the nurse paid attention closely as to hear the words. 

"What ... happened?"

This question gave the nurse pause, as she wasn't entirely sure. She told the girl all she knew, about her arrival in Mideel carried by the stranger, and how they'd feared she wouldn't survive because of the severity of her wound. When the nurse had finished, the girl was crying, and the nurse absently realized that she was too. 

"Where's ... Sephiroth?"

_Sephiroth_ ... that must be the man's name. For a moment the sound of it jogged something in the far recesses of her memory, but just as quickly as it had come it was lost. She spoke again, telling the girl of how Sephiroth seldom left her side, of how he spent every night in the chair by her bed, of how he sometimes left but always returned. As the nurse was telling her this, an expression began to grow on the girl's drawn face; it was one of astonishment and dawning comprehension. She looked around when the nurse fell silent at the assortment of exotic flowers in every nook and cranny of the room and asked where they had come from. Chuckling, the nurse told her, and was rewarded with a tremulous, yet brilliant smile. 

Very soon the doctor arrived, and he to was overjoyed by the girl's awakening. Almost beside himself, he insisted on checking her temperature, her pulse, and taking a look at the wound which had in fact healed quite nicely. Beaming, he announced that aside from her muscles being atrophied due to the long bedrest, she would heal just fine. Promising they would be back very soon, the doctor and nurse left the clinic together to spread the news to the rest of the villagers, who, like them, would be ecstatic by her recovery.

Feeling very tired, but very nervous, the girl settled back amongst her pillows to await the one she loved. 

-----

The jungle offered Sephiroth an escape from the dismal reality he was faced with when inside the clinic. Every day, he was forced to watch as before his eyes Aerith wasted away. It infuriated him that he was so helpless when it came to her well being, but beyond that he was weighed down by a heavy, inescapable grief like nothing he'd ever known. He'd brought Aerith to Mideel directly from the City of the Ancients, using all his power to grant him impossible speed, because he'd heard of the famed doctor that dwelt here. Though he knew she was dying, though he knew nothing could be done, he'd asked all the same, because the thought of her dying was driving him insane. 

Driven by these brooding thoughts, he strode out of the jungle on his way back to the clinic. The villagers, who had long ago become accustomed to his presence, no longer hovered around the area hoping to see him pass by. All was silent around the clinic, which was bordered along the front by heaping bouquets of flowers; get well gifts from the local women. Steeling himself against what awaited him, he pushed the door open and with eyes downcast entered the room in which Aerith lay.

"Sephiroth." 

The voice, nothing more than a raw whisper, stopped him dead in his tracks. For a moment his heart stopped beating, and as he slowly raised his gaze he was unable to breathe. Aerith was sitting up, she was awake, and with a hand that shook violently from weeks of no use she reached out to him. He was by her side in an instant, perching on the edge of the bed and taking her hand in his own. Was this real? Could he be dreaming? She smiled at him then, and air rushed back in to fill his lungs at the realization that this _was_ real, that she was here before him, _alive_ ...

"I-" he said, and then stopped. There were no words to express what he felt, what he wanted to tell her. Instead he stared at her, trying desperately to find a way to say what was so chaotically roiling within him. 

"Thank you," she said softly, "for what you've done."

"I did nothing." He said harshly, for it was the truth. All he'd done was bring her here; beyond that had he not proved entirely useless? 

"You did." Aerith insisted, and to his astonishment he saw that she was smiling. Very slowly she drew him close with a trembling hand around his neck, and very softly she place the merest of kisses on his mouth. He enfolded her in his embrace then, lightly as not to hurt her. Moments passed, and with his eyes tightly closed he offered thanks to whatever force it was that had brought her back to him. He noticed how frail and how thin she was against him, but that would change. She was awake, she was _alive_ ...

After a moment he drew away, tipping her chin up with one finger as to gaze directly into her eyes. What he saw then filled him with exultation, with jubilation, because he could clearly see she felt what he felt, and that was all that could ever matter. Unwilling to ruin this moment, but needing to tell her, he said, "Aerith ... In the City of the Ancients -" 

She stopped him then with a finger on his lips. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I remember. Down there, in that place ... I was a part of something. I can't ask you to understand that. When Cloud appeared, I was happy ..." Here she trailed off, and Sephiroth made an angry noise. She stopped him with a glance, and continued. "I was happy, but it wasn't Cloud I wanted to see ..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence; Sephiroth knew the rest. She leaned close and rested her head against his chest, and he pulled her close again. Both were silent, knowing that eventually they would have to speak of the past, that eventually they would have to face their respective demons. That would all come in due time, but for now they would enjoy this idyllic moment and all the meaning it carried. Each had reached a new understanding; this ordeal had awakened within them each a bond that could not ever be broken. It was unspoken, it was unexplainable, and yet it was there all the same. Barriers had been shattered, resolve had been forgotten, and all that remained between them both was this affection, this concern, this passion ... 

Standing just outside the open entrance, tears streaming unheeded down her cheeks, the nurse turned with a smile and silently closed the door.

----- 

**Author's Note:** Of the two endings I wrote, this was my favourite. Heart felt thanks go out to each and every person who reviewed this story and gave me the inspiration to keep going; without you this wouldn't have made it past the first few chapters. To those of you who have become my interesting, supportive, and entertaining friends: I love you all. Know that I have the utmost appreciation for each and every one of you.

Now to finish the rest of my fics ... 


	25. Alternate Ending

_**Author's Note: **I wrote this chapter (in a half-assed manner, mind you) back when I'd written the other original ending. I always meant to post it, but haven't taken the initiative until now. Consider this, then, the alternate ending. I didn't like this one as much at first but it's kind of grown on me._

_**Fun (and random) Fact: **I wanted to make this chapter an "echo" of the very first, which is why it starts out the same and there are certain similarities between the two._

**xXx**

He stood before a church.

There had been at time, not long ago, when the irony of a holy place, a sacrosanct place, holding something he needed had brought a smile to his face. He was not smiling now; eyes downcast, there were newly formed creases lining his face, bringing an element of somber resignation to his expression. He stood for long moments absolutely still amidst the swirling, heavy fall of snow; his shoulders and the unbound length of his pale hair were dusted with a fine covering of the crystalline substance. As first one and then another icy flake caught on his downcast lashes he opened his eyes, blinking to focus again on what lie before him.

What had once been the slums of a great city was now an open expanse of wasteland, bared for the first time ever to the sky, to the fresh air, to the world itself. The mechanized mass that had symbolized the pinnacle of civilization was all but gone, destroyed by the aftermath of humanity versus Planet. The upper plates of Midgar had crumbled, the great gargantuan pieces falling upon the undercity below. The result was complete and total devastation; for that reason, the fact that the small, worn church Sephiroth now stood before was still in one whole piece should have been astounding.

But Sephiroth, snow-dusted and motionless, was not astounded. If ever there were anything that should survive such a calamity, he knew, it would be this church. Abruptly his free hand clenched into a fist, the ice-caked leather of his glove creaking in protest; in the other hand he held a thin, flat piece of metal covered in the intricate spread of frost designs and a simple, folded length of pale rose ribbon. He took a deep breath and then another before walking to the door of the church that hung lopsided on its hinges. It swung open beneath his touch with a screech that told of rust too long untreated. The sound echoed eerily throughout the confines of the interior; his entrance was thus blatantly announced. The church was lit only by the flickering white light of a material lantern that had been set down at the edge of a bed of flowers growing up through the splintered wood floor. It did not seem strange to Sephiroth that such plants were still growing, still in bloom, even in the heart of this unusually bitter winter. From where he knelt among the leaves and petals, a solitary man lifted his bowed head at the harsh, intrusive noise of the door and swiveled to face the church's newest occupant.

For a long time they regarded each other, their respective, luminous mako gazes –one green, the other blue- unwavering and revealing nothing but a mere hint of the old familiar animosity between them both. When the former General closed the door gently behind him and then began to walk towards the circle of light created by the lamp, the other man rose to his feet and turned fully to face him.

It was Cloud that spoke first, voice husky as though it had not been used in a long time. "So you aren't dead."

A smile, mirthless, flickered about Sephiroth's mouth. "No."

"Rumors began to appear when no trace of Jenova could be found. When Hojo's body was discovered. There were speculations, hundreds of them, that you were dead too."

"One should never trust to rumors and hearsay." Sephiroth said quietly.

"So it seems."

Silence fell then, poignant and heavy. The blatant hostility they had once held for each other had faded somewhere in the weeks past so full of chaos, of death, of sacrifice. Neither, it seemed, had the will any longer to resume the old dance of hatred and anger. It was Cloud again who spoke, words falling softly into the gentle stillness surrounding them. "You were with her, weren't you? When she …"

He faltered, but his eye's held Sephiroth's, and in them could be read all the things that Sephiroth himself had felt in enormity for so long now. He nodded, free hand fisting again as an emotion he'd never known until very recently washed through him. "I was with her, yes."

Cloud said then in a tone that would have been accusing were it not for the heavy grief and faint disbelief it carried, "You loved her."

Those words, so simply stated, caused a sharp ache to resound within Sephiroth, emphasizing the painful void that had grown within him, consumed him now for weeks on end. "I did." He said in an almost silent voice.

Cloud nodded. "I thought you must have, later. And she … she cared for you, I think. I saw it when we spoke down there, before –before I …"

Sephiroth said nothing.

"It wasn't me," Cloud continued harshly. "It wasn't _my_ will –but you knew that already, didn't you?"

"I did." The former General said again, and after a moment he went on. "Understand, Strife, that I was to be the executioner. But I managed –somehow- to defy the orders and the manipulation, and so Mother turned instead to the other she could control almost as much as me."

"And I did it." Cloud's words were thick with self loathing.

Remaining silent, Sephiroth closed his eyes tightly, briefly, against recollections of what Aerith had in her final moments, of the forgiveness she'd bestowed upon not only her lover but her executioner as well. And suddenly he wanted to destroy this man before him, this man that had taken from him the very thing, the wonder, that had broken Jenova's hold over him, the miracle he had found and had for far too short a time. Instead, gritting his teeth against the all too familiar desire for violence, for vengeance, he extended the hand holding the ribbon and piece of metal.

"What is this?" Cloud asked, taking them. He fingered the ribbon as it unfurled to fall, fluttering gently, from his fingers; a smile, achingly sad, curved his lips for a brief moment. As he then flipped the piece of metal over, as he recognized the solid engraving that read simply _Jenova, _as he recalled seeing it fastened securely to the head of a monstrosity, his breath left him in a soundless gasp.

Sephiroth turned; he'd done all he'd meant to do. He was several paces from the door when Cloud called after him, "Sephiroth – you destroyed her? Jenova?"

Without pivoting, the other replied, "Yes."

"Why?"

_For reasons I realized far too late. For revenge, for my pain, for the fact I've lost the one and only thing that made me feel like what I truly am – human._

_For her._

"Why do you think?" Was all he said, and resumed walking. The door's reluctant screech preceded his exit, and when the door closed behind him he stood motionless a moment, staring unseeing into the dance of snow on wind before him.

" … _This is the way of things, Sephiroth … I have known you truly, and through you I have known happiness, however brief. I would not change that …"_

He would recall, for eternity and beyond, all that a flower girl from the slums had ever spoken to him; he would remember always that it was she that had defied the Son of the Calamity, that she had in doing so pierced the layers of lies and deceit to discover the person he hadn't even know existed underneath. He would remember, forever, the mere mortal girl – the Cetra- that had brought him to his knees.

"… _maybe we'll find each other again, for that too- that too is the way of things. In this world or the next …"_

The once General, the wayward Son, walked back into the meandering fall of glittering crystals, treading a new path, a different path, through the snow.

**xXx**


End file.
